


O' Valley of Plenty

by luvuni



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 43,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvuni/pseuds/luvuni
Summary: Following the story of Geralt and Ciri after the end of the Season 1 Netflix series. Will be eventual GeraltxCiri (when she's grown). If you are not ok with that, then don't read. My first fic in years, and my first on this site. Please be kind, though constructive criticism is alright. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona | False Ciri/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 63
Kudos: 311





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song. From when the White Wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves did they revel.”

The words travelled on the breeze, so quiet they were almost impossible to hear to the average human ear. However, Geralt could pick up the words easy enough with his enhanced hearing. The girl behind him remained oblivious. 

“They came after me with masterful deceit, broke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth. While the devil’s horns minced our tender meat, and so cried the Witcher, he can’t be bleat.”

As Geralt moved silently down the worn forest path, sitting on top of his trusted mare Roach, he would deny to anybody that the corners of his lips tilted upwards in a slight smile as the singing grew louder. He turned, his stoic expression returned, to face the ashen blonde girl on her bay mount behind him and gestured with his finger for her to remain quiet. She nodded in understanding, as the singing finally met her ears, her curls bouncing from the movement.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty, O’ Valley of Plenty, O’… Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty. At the edge of the world fight the mighty horde, that bashes and breaks you and brings you to mourn. He thrust every elf far back on the shelf, high up on the mountain from whence it came.”

Geralt slowed his horse’s brisk walk to a slow, lumbering pace as he spotted a man dressed in simple red clothes, seated upon a stump and strumming his fingers along the chords of his lute.   
“He wiped out your pest, got kicked in his chest, he’s a friend of humanity so give him the rest. That’s my epic tail, our champion prevailed, defeated the villain, now pour him some ale. Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty, O’ Valley of Plenty, O’… Toss a coin to your Witcher, and friend of humanity.”   
The Bards voice trailed off as he caught the sound of hoof beats approaching close by. Geralt raised a brow when the Bard looked up, clearly shocked to see him. “For the love of the Gods,” Jaskier snapped, eyes wide as he stood up in a hurry, nearly tripping over the very stump he’d just been seated on. “Look who it is; if it isn’t our mighty Witcher!”

Jaskier bent down in a half, mocking bow before turning his gaze upon the Witcher. “Found a new lady to keep you company? Awfully young, wouldn’t you think?” he asked, his eyes turning to glance at the dirt covered kid. 

“Easy now,” Geralt grumbled. “Jaskier, this is Cirilla, Princess of Cinatra.” The young girl stared at the Bard with wide, curious eyes, but said nothing.

The Bard’s jaw dropped. “This is the child born from the Law-of-Surprise? So you finally found her? My that must be quite the tale…” his voice trailed off as he smirked up at the Witcher, suddenly losing his sarcastic and bitter tone. After all, they hadn’t departed on good circumstances. 

“I found her in the woods,” Geralt stated bluntly. “We must keep moving, come if you’d like Jaskier.” He urged Roach back to his brisk walk, Ciri’s mount following close behind.

“Well, I shan’t turn down the offer of protection during these dangerous times,” the Bard smirked, walking behind Roach, but staying slightly in front of Ciri’s horse. “Might be time to pick myself up a horse one of these days. Where are you guys off to anyways?” 

“We must find Yennefer,” was all Geralt said. 

“How would you track down a mage? She could be anywhere!” Jaskier scoffed. “I’m sure there’s a few dozen other ladies you could bed who would be much easier to find!”

Ciri’s head shot around to look at the Bard in shock. “He has bedded her?” she asked, her first time speaking since they stumbled upon Jaskier. 

“Oh yes, those two are like a pair of wild dogs in heat,” the Bard chuckled. He was silenced by Geralt’s large hand smacking him in the back of the head. 

“Watch your tongue,” the Witcher snapped. “Cirilla is a child and doesn’t need to hear your ramblings about adult matters. Yennefer is part of our destiny, we will find her just by continuing forward.” 

Jaskier rubbed the back of his head indignantly, grumbling to himself. After a moment, he dropped his arm and looked up at Ciri. “You know Yennefer?” 

“I saw her in a vision where Geralt was calling for her. She seems important,” Ciri answered quietly.

“Oh yeah, importantly dangerous,” the Bard grimaced. “She’s as crazy as she is beautiful.” 

“That she is,” Geralt smirked, still looking forward at the path ahead. 

The conversation died out after that, and they continued along the forest floor in silence. Ciri’s mind wandered to everything that had happened over the last few months. So much had went wrong, and she had lost so much, and learned that very few could be trusted. She found it hard to believe how safe she felt with the Witcher in front of her. They had hardly spoken, just travelled together in companionship and comfort. She felt like she’d known him all her life. Apparently that was the power of Destiny.

Her powers however, concerned her. She did not know what she was capable of, but Ciri did know that she was the one who had killed her ex-friends that awful day not long ago. Plus, then there was the power of her scream, which seemed to cause others great pain in their heads and ears. A strong feeling told her that Yennefer would be able to help her understand what she could do, and why. Maybe even Geralt would have some idea. 

They travelled for the remainder of the day, until they came upon a stronghold, mightily structured with thirty-feet high stone walls. This was Yarrin, Ciri believed. She had read about it in her studies. It was an independent stronghold, and was ruled by the King Reimund. They walked through the gates with no trouble, though Geralt did tell her to keep her hood up. 

People stared at Geralt in disgust or terror. Mothers grabbed their children and ushered them inside, while men glared at him. A few looked upon him in awe, and lust in the case of some women. Ciri was surprised; how could a man whom she felt this unearthly trust and connection towards, be looked at in such cruel ways by people? When the gazes turned to her, but a child upon a large horse, she cowered, scrunching down further under her hood and scooting her horse closer to Geralts’. 

Geralt led them up to a large inn with a stables attached to the side. He dismounted Roach, and passed him to the Bard, and indicated for Ciri to do the same. She quickly passed her horse to Jaskier, and followed Geralt inside. 

The front room of the inn was a large room, filled with tables lined with men drinking mugs of ale and ladies in tight corsets passing the thirsty men their next drinks. Geralt walked up to the front desk, where a masculine-looking woman stood, with her thin wispy grey hair stuck out in every which direction. Her clothes were dirty and old, worn full of holes. 

“We’ll need two rooms,” Geralt grumbled to the woman, placing a small bag of coins on the desk, which the woman grabbed quickly. She counted them out silently in front of them, her eyes glancing at Ciri in curiosity between the counting of the coins. Without saying a word, she passed two keys to Geralt. 

Jaskier entered the inn just then. “Horses are taken care of for the night,” he said, as he stepped up beside Geralt and took one of the keys from him.

Ciri followed the two men as they sat down at one of the tables. She kept her hood up to cover her face, and sat next to Geralt. A voluptuous woman slammed two mugs overflowing with strong-smelling ale in front of Geralt and Jaskier, before handing her a glass of water. She thanked the woman, bringing the glass to her parched, dry lips. It had been so long since she had a drink in a proper glass, and she was grateful for the chance. 

Geralt and Jaskier were speaking quietly about a rumor of some monster lingering around this town, but she paid little attention. Her eyes looked at Geralt, finally being able to study him. He definitely was a handsome man, with his almost white hair and golden eyes. The thick muscles that lined his scarred arms proved that he was a dangerous foe. She had yet to see him in combat, but with the huge sword strapped to his back, she knew he would be a terrifying opponent. 

Ciri remained silent for the hour they sat there, the two men drinking their ale, as she nibbled on some bread and cheese Geralt had one of the women bring over for her. Not long after she had finished, Geralt stood up. Ciri followed him closely, as the three of them went up the stairs. Jaskier bade them goodnight, before heading into one of the rooms.

Geralt unlocked one of the other room doors, and gestured for her to enter after he gave it a quick once over. She walked inside and looked around. The room was simple, with an old bed, a couple of chairs, and a small table. A large window covered by thick black drapes was on the adjacent wall, backlit by the moonlight sneaking through. 

Reaching up, she untied her cloak and placed it on a hook near the door, while Geralt moved over to the chairs, which faced a fireplace with a small flame, barely ignited. He added another log onto it from the wood box before sitting down. His golden eyes turned to look at her, and she fidgeted under his intense gaze. “Get some sleep. I have been hired for a job tomorrow and you will have to come along too.” 

Ciri nodded and moved over silently to the bed. She almost asked him where he was going to sleep, but something in her told her that he was going to be either spending the night on the floor or in that wooden chair. A bit of guilt nudged at her, but she pushed it down. Looking at him to make sure his back was to her, she pulled off her dress and folded it up before placing it on the tiny night table. She pulled back the musty smelling bed covers and crawled into bed, the sound of the roaring fire and the feeling of finally being safe lulling her into a peaceful sleep.


	2. Cemetaur

A couple of loud bangs jarred Ciri from sleep, causing her to sit up in a flurry and slam her back onto the wall behind her, fearing a potential threat. Her eyes took in the Inn’s bedroom as the memories of the last couple of days’ events caught up with her. Geralt was looking at her cautiously as he approached the door. “It’s just Jaskier, knocking like an obnoxious fool,” he explained. Ciri’s posture relaxed, and she pulled the blankets up over her chest; she was still in only her underclothes after all. 

While Geralt spoke with Jaskier, scolding him for banging on the door so loudly, Ciri quickly slipped on her outer dress and combed her fingers through her hair. She wished that she had a proper brush so that she could begin to get the knots out of the rats-nest that her hair had become. It was so tangled and needed a wash, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen for a while.

She walked up behind Geralt, and caught the last end of their conversation. “…get the horses tacked up and ready. We’ll be down after she eats.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted jokingly and winked at Ciri before turning and marching away from them down the hall. 

Geralt looked at her. “Get your cloak.” 

Ciri did as he asked, and tied it around her shoulders and lifted the hood up to cover her head. Geralt guided her out of the room and down the stairs where they sat at a table. The hall was almost empty, with only a few people sitting around the large number of tables. Ciri ate a simple breakfast of porridge, and while it was terribly bland, Ciri was so grateful to have warm food. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at Geralt as they headed out the front door of the Inn. He merely nodded in response. 

Roach and Ciri’s mare, whom she really ought to give a name to, were being held by Jaskier, who was waiting for them outside. In his other hand, was a set of reins leading to a large plucky pony. “This poor sap was the only mount I could afford. I guess he’ll have to do,” Jaskier chuckled, as he eyed up the shaggy brown pony. 

Ciri stifled a giggle as she mounted her mare, stroking its neck gently in greeting. A smirk lifted the corner of Geralt’s lips as he watched Jaskier mount the pony. “A fitting steed for a Bard,” he stated, humor obvious in his tone.

“Hey! This strapping young steed will do just fine,” Jaskier scoffed, moving to run his fingers through his pony’s mane, only to have it get caught in the thick wild tangles, and he ended up having to yank his hand free - much to the displeasure of the pony. 

After Geralt swung up onto Roach’s back, the three set off back out of the stronghold. “Where are we going?” Ciri asked as they turned their horses onto a steep, rocky path climbing up the side of a small mountain. The rocks were sharp and jagged, but the horses maneuvered slowly and carefully, climbing with ease. 

Geralt turned his molten gold eyes to look at her, his brows slightly furrowed. “There is word of a Cemetaur hanging around where the stronghold buries their dead.”

“What is a Cemetaur?” Ciri asked curiously, though from the tone of Geralt’s voice and he being hired to hunt it, it was probably something terrible. 

“It is a type of Necrophage,” Jaskier answered, shuddering on his pony. “They are ugly creatures, with sharp teeth and blood red eyes… things of nightmares really.”

A chill crept up Ciri’s spine. “Why must I come along?” she whispered, half to herself, except Geralt’s keen ears picked up on what she’d asked. 

“I am sworn to protect you, and I can’t do that if you are not with me,” he stated. “It will be dangerous, but you will be safe, I promise.” 

She nodded, though a bit of worry still continued to gnaw at her gut, but she tried not to let it show, as she urged her mare to keep following after Roach. The plucky pony continued to trail behind them, but Ciri could hear Jaskier cussing as the pony stumbled on some of the larger rocks. She couldn’t hold back her chuckle, and she caught a smile grace Geralt’s face. 

“I heard that your highness,” the Bard snapped. “How about you, being the smaller of the party, trade horses with me?”

Ciri’s head twisted around to look at Geralt, her eyebrows lifted high. He wouldn’t make her ride the pony, would he? “Not a chance,” Geralt chuckled, looking over his shoulder at the Bard. “You bought the pony, you ride it.” 

A look of gratitude passed over Ciri’s face as she looked at the Witcher. He had bought the bay mare for her to ride, so she could keep up with him and Roach. So of course, if he kicked her off the horse, she would have had to oblige, but thankfully he let her stay on the mare. 

They climbed up the mountainside until the sun was high in the sky, warming their backs as the trekked on. Ciri couldn’t help but wonder why the dead were buried so far from the stronghold of Yarrin, but it was probably more comfortable not having the dead lying so close by. Just as she was thinking this, they came upon a wide open, tall gate, which lead to a flat top in the side of the mountain, littered with tombstones. 

Geralt and Jaskier dismounted their horses, and Geralt quickly walked up beside Ciri and held his hand out for her to help her get off. “Thank you,” she blushed, as she swung her leg over the horse’s back and grabbed Geralt’s hand to ease down off the tall horse. Quickly, she released his hand and stepped back to look around while Jaskier tied the horses up to a nearby tree. 

They walked around the tombs, and Ciri gulped when she noticed that there was bright red blood staining the grass and rocks. “Over here Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice shook, and Ciri could’ve sworn she heard the Bard gag right after. Geralt walked in front of her as they headed over to where Jaskier pointed, and Ciri inhaled sharply when she saw the bodies. There had to be at least ten, lying in a shallow hole, each torn apart and half eaten. Organs lay on the ground torn apart, heads were separated from their bodies, and limbs lay strewn across the dirt with large tears out of them. 

Geralt immediately grabbed her and pulled her back from the awful sight. He went to say something, but before he could get a word out, a low hissing interrupted him, coming from somewhere in the trees. Ciri went as stiff as a rake as her head flung around in the direction, her blonde hair snapping at the speed in which she’d turned. Geralt tucked her behind him immediately, even though the Cemetaur wasn’t visible, and drew his sword from it’s sheath on his back. 

Warm hands grabbed Ciri’s shoulder, and she jumped before realizing it was the Bard. Geralt stepped towards the sound, as a dark shadow bolted through the trees that skirted along the burial grounds. The beast was making some sort of snarling sound, and Ciri swore she could almost hear its heavy breathing, as it clung to the shadows where it was barely visible. 

Geralt continued to stalk towards the monster, his sword at the ready. As he stepped closer, the Cemetaur finally lunged out of the trees, and Ciri froze. It was a nasty looking creature, with green skin that appeared cracked and dry under the daylight sun. It’s nails were long and claw-like, tinged red with blood. Its teeth snapped in Geralt’s direction, all sharp as daggers and it’s red eyes glinted with the desire of its next kill. 

The thing lunged at Geralt, unbelievably fast and teeth barred. It’s body slammed into the Witcher’s, knocking him flat on his back before he could react. Ciri shrieked, stepping back into Jaskier, watching with wide, terror-filled eyes as Geralt rolled out from under the beast, and slashed his sword along the creature’s back, spilling the black ichor that ran through its veins. The blood landed in thick splotches along the grass, looking like oil along the ground. 

The Cemetaur reared back in pain, and hissed at Geralt as the Witcher advanced on it, sword ready to make a killing blow. It lunged backwards, trying to avoid the sword that was aimed at it. The blood was oozing slowly from the large wound on its back, and Ciri was shocked that the thing could still move with a wound like that. They swung back and forth at each other, with no hits getting in for either party. Ciri’s blood was pounding in her ears, her adrenaline high as she watched the battle. 

Geralt shot forwards, swinging his sword down at the creature’s head, only to be blocked as its hand came up at grabbed onto the sword’s blade, more black blood running from it’s wounded hand. Geralt grunted as he went to pull the blade free, only to have the Cemetaur jerk it out of his grip and launch it across the cemetery. Jaskier cussed beside her, and his grip tightened on Ciri’s shoulders.   
The Cemetaur brought his mighty arm down, and slammed Geralt in the side, sending him flying into the tree line, and he landed with a great thud in the dirt. “Geralt!” Ciri yelled. The monster’s head flung around to look at her, its course changing with the smell of a juvenile, fresh, female body ready to devour. It lunged in her direction, and she backed up as Jaskier stepped in front of her, his small dagger held so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. 

He slashed when the creature got close, but failed to leave a mark as he too, was bashed aside and landed unconscious in the dirt. Ciri’s body shook in fear as the red eyes turned to stare at her, it’s teeth barred and ready to rip her apart. Her breath came out in short, panicked gasps, her chest tight from the terror. As it reached to snatch her, she felt the powerful scream break free from her throat, and exit with it’s ear-piercing noise. 

The monster roared and reared back, its clawed hands moving towards its ears in a failed attempt to block out her unearthly scream. Its knees buckled before it collapsed, claws scratching at its own ears like a wild dog in pain. She spotted Jaskier, who had come to, smashing his hands over his ears as he tried to block out the terrible sound. Lunging backwards, she stopped screaming and spotted Geralt, who’d grabbed his sword, heading towards the monster with anger in his eyes. He roared, and as the beast was still gathering its senses from the shrill sound that had pierced its ears, Geralt brought his sword down and sliced off the Cemetaur’s head, separating it cleanly from its shoulders. Black ichor sprayed out, some landing on the bottom of Ciri’s cloak and dress, standing out against the fabric and dirt. 

Geralt lowered his sword, black blood sliding down to the tip of the blade. “Are you alright Cirilla?” Geralt asked, but as he stepped towards her, Ciri finally felt the terror and adrenaline leave her body. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she saw no more.


	3. Oh Witcher and the Bard

Chapter 3: Oh Witcher and the Bard

Geralt lunged forward to catch Ciri the moment he saw her eyes roll back. Arm behind her back, he gently laid her down on the grass, away from where the blood of the Cemetaur stained the greenery. “What’s wrong with her? Is she injured?” Jaskier asked, leaning over and gently tapping Ciri’s face. 

Golden eyes met the Bard’s, and for the moment he was grateful he had his Dandelion back by his side, though he would never admit it out loud. They had made up in the Inn while Ciri was distracted eating, and Geralt had (against his better judgement) apologized for the cruel words he had spoken to the Bard. As he looked back down at the girl, he was at a loss. “She was scared, it may have been too much for her,” he answered. 

“And what was with that scream? Sounded like a Banshee!” A shudder shook the Bard’s shoulder as his ears still rang from the horrible sound. 

They both looked down at the girl, her face relaxed from being blissfully unconscious. “Inherited from her mother. She has powers, though the extent of them, I do not know.”

“Thus the need to find Yennefer,” Jaskier mused. “Should we try to wake her?” 

Geralt stared down at the pale child. He had hardly spoken to her since he’d found her in the woods, and while he knew she had been through great tragedy, he was beginning to realize just how drastic her world had changed. She had no parents, her grandparents had died, she lost her home and everything she’d known. Now she was to travel with a strange man and his bard, discovered her powers, and was thrust into a world of monsters and people trying to kill her. An emotion he wasn’t used to getting struck him hard; guilt. 

Shaking his head, he scooped her up gently into his arms. “No,” he replied to Jaskier. They walked back to where the horses were tied. The Bard was ecstatic to not have to ride his pony, as he mounted Ciri’s mare and tied his pony to the saddle horn. Geralt climbed onto his trusted Roach, reins in one hand, while the other held on tight to the passed out girl in his arms. He tried not to jostle her around too much, as he turned Roach back in the direction of the town, and they began their decent down the mountainside. 

It took until dark to reach the Stronghold, the sun having finally set below the horizon as they approached the gates. One of the guards was waiting for them, looking at them with a curious expression. “Is it dead, Witcher?” the guard asked, his gaze then shifting down to look at Ciri. “Is she injured?”

“It’s dead,” Geralt replied, “and she is fine.” He lifted his free hand and caught the coin purse that the guard threw at him. 

“Payment as due,” the guard said, before returning to his post. 

Geralt and Jaskier rode back to the Inn, where they both dismounted. Jaskier grabbed the three sets of reins, while Geralt kept Ciri tucked against his chest. His protectiveness over the girl was strong, and seemed to only be growing. Destiny it seemed, was determined to make sure that he would never have the strength to leave this girl. “Go on it for the night and get her comfortable,” Jaskier smiled softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Geralt grunted in response, as he turned into the Inn and walked back up to their room from last night. He went to place Ciri in the bed, but noticed that there was blood on her dress from the Cemetaur. Brows furrowing as he debated what to do, he finally shrugged and carefully removed her outer dress, before sliding her under the covers. 

A quiet knock sounded on the door before Jaskier stuck his head in. “Anything I could grab for her before I call it a night?” 

Geralt looked at the dirty torn dress in his hands, and decided what to spend the money earned from killing the creature on. “Toss this, and purchase two new ones in this size, and any other small items she may need.” After a moment, he added: “And grab a small weapon, whatever they have available.” 

He chucked the coin purse at the Bard, along with the wrecked dress. Jaskier caught it with a nod, and the door clicked as he departed. 

Moving over to the fireplace, Geralt quickly built up a fire to bring some warmth to the chilly room. Reaching up, he removed his sword, and his outer layer before sitting on the floor against the wall. His mind wandered to recent events, and he wondered what was going to happen going forwards. No longer did he travel in solitude. Now, he had his bard back, and his child-of-surprise who was also a girl. His life had gotten way more complicated as of late, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. 

While he felt a strong pull to the Princess, he also missed the life of just him and his horse. Where no one depended on him, and he could live without having to worry about others. Yet, Jaskier brought humour and light to his dark, brutal days, and now this child was worming her way into his stone-cold heart as well. Plus, then there was Yennefer… 

Running a hand through his white hair, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Normally he would be drowning in ale and spending his evening with a whore, but he could not bring himself to leave the girl alone. It felt like he would be offering her up as a sacrifice to whatever danger was lurking. It was his job to protect her, and that required him always being near her. 

Allowing himself to relax, Geralt drifted off into a light-sleep, his sword laying under his hand. Always ready for any potential threats.


	4. A Few Items Given

Chapter 4: A Few Items Given

Opening her eyes slowly, Ciri could tell she was in the bed at the Inn. The room was lit only by the dying fire in the fireplace, casting a low light upon the room. Her body felt stiff and sore, and she wondered for a few seconds what had happened, before the memories came flooding back. The Cemetaur, the fighting, all the dead bodies, Geralt getting tossed aside, Jaskier as well… the thing turning to stare at her as it prepared to eat her. The utter terror she had felt when her eyes locked with it’s pure red orbs. 

She also remembered Geralt killing the horrible creature, before everything went dark. Sitting up slowly, she looked around and was relieved to see the Witcher asleep, leaning against the wall by the fireplace. Relaxing at seeing him alright, she took the time to analyze the man, as he sat sleeping. 

The orange glow cast dancing light on his skin, casting shadows and reflecting off his almost-white hair. His hair was surprisingly well kept, clearly taken care of and pulled back away from his face. His eyelashes were long, and brushed his cheeks now that his eyes were closed. She knew that behind those lids were his golden eyes, the color both terrifying and beautiful. His outer layer was off, leaving him in a shorter sleeved shirt, showing off the thick, corded muscle that ran along his arms, proof that he was a deadly opponent. Underneath his right hand, lay his sword, unsheathed and ready as if he would have to fight the moment he awoke. Sadness rang with that thought; she couldn’t imagine living a life where you had to be prepared to fight for your life at every moment. Though, that’s where she was now… How truly lucky she was to have this man in her life. 

His eyes suddenly flew open, causing her to jump as they snapped to look at her. In an instant, he was standing. “Princess, how are you feeling?” his rough tone was even more gravelly from sleep. 

Looking up at him with wide eyes, she struggled. How was she feeling? Physically she was fine, if not a little stiff and sore from travel. Mentally though, she’d been through a lot, though she knew that was not what he was asking about. “I’m fine,” she replied, eyes averting from his gold ones. He had witnessed her power, perhaps he would think her a monster too, like the ones he hunted. “How are you? Is Jaskier…?” Her voice trailed off. She truly hoped the Bard was alright. 

“Dandelion is too stubborn to die,” Geralt answered. “I have been cursed to have him with me for eternity it seems.”

Ciri almost smirked at that. She could tell he truly cared for the Bard, but tried to appear tough, as if he needed no one. They were so comfortable with one another, about the closest best friends could be when one was a Witcher with no emotions. “You are uninjured?” she asked again. 

“Yes,” he answered. After a moment, he turned his head slightly. “You inherited your powers from your mother. Yennefer should be able to help you with them.”

“You are alright knowing I have powers?” she asked nervously. “You don’t think me a monster, for having magic? I’ve killed people, almost unintentionally and unknowingly, but in such a brutal way.” She shuddered as she remembered the boys who had all lain dead before her when she’d woken up the following morning. 

Geralt looked at her squarely. “Did they deserve to die?” was all he asked. 

Ciri looked at her hands, which were clasped together tightly in her lap. “I… I don’t know. They were pushing me around, I didn’t know what they were going to do. There was four of them, and it was dark. I just got so scared…”

Geralt’s expression darkened, imagining what might have been in the minds of those men. “Then they deserved the fate they received. You did nothing wrong, and are no monster Cirilla.” 

Her shoulders relaxed. So he accepted her for the magic she had. It was almost… a relief. 

“I had the Bard pick up a few things for you,” Geralt said after a few silent moments, indicating to the bundle by her side. He reached down to pick it up, and placed it in her lap. Looking down at the bundle, she was shocked to see two dresses, both pretty and suitable for travel. One was a deep red, and the other a dark blue. A new black cloak was also there, to replace hers which was obviously one that belonged to a royal. There was also a hairbrush, a few salves and bandages, a new saddle bag, her own water skin, and a new pair of leather gloves. Sitting on the top of it all, was a sheathed dagger. Fingers shaking, she grabbed the hilt and pulled the blade out, eyes wide at the beautiful, silver weapon. “Hopefully you will never need to use it, but I will be more comfortable knowing you have a blade.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she clenched the bundle tightly. It was the most kindness she’d seen in a long time. “Thank you,” her voice cracked slightly, as she looked up at him sincerely.  
The Witcher jolted at the look of sincerity and gratitude in her pale blue orbs. Certainly the few items were nothing compared to what she had as a Princess. Yet, here she was, obviously overcome over the things she’d been given. 

Grunting in response, he shrugged as he reached down and grabbed his sword and gear. “I will wait outside the door. Get changed and grab all of your things, we’re moving on today.”

As Geralt stepped out of the room, Ciri looked down again at the things in her hands. She was almost guilty. He had spent probably all that he’d earned on these things for her, yet she could do nothing for him in return. Sighing, she changed into the blue dress, and strapped the black cloak on. Looking down at her cloak from her grandmother, her heart cracked when she realized what she had to do with it. She couldn’t risk being seen with it, in case it could tie her back to being the crowned Princess of Cinatra. Clenching the blue cloak tightly in her fingers, she stared at it for a long moment before tossing it in the fire, a few tears slipping down her cheeks as she watched the last thing from her grandmother go up in flames. 

After a few moments, she numbly moved back to the bed and packed up her items into the saddle bag. She brushed through her hair for a minute, getting rid of some of the knots, knowing that later she would have to spend more time combing through it. Once everything was packed, she pulled her hood up and opened the door. The Witcher and the Bard stood outside waiting for her. 

“Morning Princess,” the Bard smiled, quiet in his greeting since they couldn't be public about her identity. 

“Good morning,” she responded quietly, remembering how the man had tried to protect her from the terrible monster. Watching him move as they headed down the stairs, she could tell he was sore from the bashing he’d taken. 

They filled their water skins, and ate a simple breakfast before heading out to the front of the Inn, where their three horses stood tied, and tacked and ready to go. As she moved over to her mare, she went to place the saddle bag behind her saddle, only to have Geralt’s hands gently take the bag from her and tie it on for her. “Thank you,” she murmured, accepting his help getting up onto the mare. 

He never answered, as he moved over and quickly swung up onto Roach. Once all settled onto their horses, they set out on the road and away from the Stronghold. Ciri wondered if they kept walking, would truly just stumble upon Yennefer? Perhaps they could ask people along the road, if they knew where the powerful mage was. Although, she supposed that could be dangerous, in case people questioned why the Witcher was travelling with a child. She no longer knew who the enemies were… No one could be trusted outside of this group she had decided, except maybe Yennefer.


	5. Telling her Tale

Chapter 5: Telling her Tale

The trio travelled for the whole day, stopping only for short periods to allow the horses a break and to graze. They travelled away from the Mountains and into the thick forest that seemed to go on for eternity. Barely any light could get through the tops of the trees, casting the whole forest floor in thick dark shadows. It left Ciri feeling on edge as they continued to move deeper into the forest, following the dirt path that had been worn down by the many travellers before them. 

The forest had gotten almost completely dark, when Jaskier spoke up. “Oh magnificent Witcher,” he called up to Geralt, from his spot in the back of the line. “Us humans can’t see in the dark like you can. Perhaps we should stop for the night.” 

Geralt pulled Roach to a halt, turning to look back at his companions, both clearly worn out and tired from the day of travelling. Nodding, he looked around and pulled them slightly off the path into some coverage of tall, thick trees. Dismounting Roach, he tied the mare to one of the tree branches, keeping it loose enough that she could graze. Following suit, Ciri slowly slid off her mare, and tied her on a branch opposite of Roach. Jaskier tied his pony to a separate tree. 

“We really should name our beasts,” Jaskier suggested to Ciri, as she watched the two men pull the saddles off of the horses. She accepted her saddle bag when Geralt passed it to her. “Hmm, actually, I think I might just call mine Beast. Seems to fit. Beast, the mighty pony.” He laughed at his own joke.

Ciri giggled while Geralt just rolled his eyes. Turning to look at the beautiful bay mare, Ciri thought for a few moments. “Aspen,” Ciri murmured quietly, her hand on her mare’s neck. 

The men looked over to her. “That’s a nice name,” Jaskier commented, while Geralt said nothing. While they got to work building a fire and setting up the bed rolls, Ciri grabbed a brush from the horse supplies and began to clean Aspen, spending time on her muddied legs and working out all the dirt from the hair until she was left soft and clean.

Once she was spotless, she looked over to see Geralt and Jaskier talking quietly around the fire, while Geralt sharpened his sword and the Bard roasted a hare the Witcher had shot earlier. Looking over at Roach, Ciri noticed that the chestnut was also dirty, so she moved over and allowed the mare to sniff her hand. The mare’s ears instantly pinned and her head shot up, causing Ciri to stiffen. “Easy now,” she cooed softly, as she reached up anyways to drag the brush gently along the chestnut’s coat. 

It took a few minutes, but Roach finally relaxed, allowing Ciri to work out all the dirt, sweat and grime that had built up in her coat over the last day of travel. “She doesn’t let many touch her,” Geralt’s voice came from behind her, causing Ciri to jump as she turned to look around at him. 

“She’s smart then,” Ciri replied, thinking of all the people who have grabbed her against her will as of late. She continued to brush the mare’s flank, aware that Geralt was standing next to her watching. “Tell me what happened to you since the attack on Cinatra.”

Ciri stopped her brushing, her shoulders stiffening as she remembered fleeing the city. Moving over to Beast, she began to comb through his tangled and wild mane, feeling Geralt’s eyes on her back, and Jaskier’s who sat listening from the fireplace. 

Inhaling slowly, she began her story. “The attack came quickly, and we had no hope of winning. My grandmother was injured, and she knew that we were not going to overpower the Nilfgaard. She sent me away to escape and find you, Geralt. She told me that you were my destiny, and that it was vital I find you. I got captured leaving the castle grounds… he grabbed me, a black knight. I felt something spark inside me, and in my terror, I screamed. It stunned him, the ground split wide open, and I fled.

I met a boy, Dara, in the woods who led me to a camp full of refugees. But the Black Knight’s army found the camp, and Dara and I fled together. I then realized that Dara was an elf. We found a clearing, which surrounded a large enchanted forest, and it entranced me and made me enter.”

Geralt’s brows furrowed as he listened to her story, while Jaskier remained quiet. 

“We met Queen Eithne and her Dryads in the forest… it was beautiful there, but I sensed something was wrong. A man, masquerading as a trusted mage Mousesack, came and wanted me to leave with him. So, Dara and I left, believing it truly was Mousesack. 

Dara realized before I did that something was wrong, and I began to question Mousesack, who eventually gave away that he was not who he claimed to be. Dara got knocked out, but I got away, only to be captured by the Black Knight, who is named Cahir. Dara eventually released me, after using the Doppler…

I was eventually by myself, and was discovered by some old friends. Four men, and they all turned on me. I didn’t know what they were going to do, and I was so scared, that my powers took over, and when I woke up, they were all dead, even the horse I’d been riding. It as awful, they were brutally killed, and I had done it.”

Geralt grunted. “We discussed this already, you did nothing wrong.” 

Ciri sighed. That may be, but she still felt guilty. “I was found by a woman, who took me to her farm. When I went to run away, I found you, in that forest. I was so tired, and hadn’t felt truly safe until I was with you.” 

By the time she was done speaking, the plucky pony was just as clean as the two horses, looking like a whole new creature. Geralt reached over and place a hand on her shoulder, the heat from his palm surprising her as it warmed her through her cloak and dress. “You won’t ever go back to that. I will keep you safe,” he said, before sliding his hand off and moving back over to the fireplace where Jaskier had just finished cooking the hare. 

Ciri went over and sat crossed legged by the fire, sitting a few feet away from Geralt. Jaskier handed her a leg from the hare, and she thanked him as she quietly ate, grateful for the food that warmed her belly. Once she had finished, the day of travelling finally caught up with her as her eyelids grew heavy. Immediately, Geralt picked up on this and gestured to one of the bed rolls, the one closest to the fire, placed between the two others. 

“That one is yours,” he told her. “Get some sleep, we’ll be moving on at dawn.”

Nodding, she moved over to the bedroll and took her shoes and cloak off before climbing inside. It was surprisingly warm thanks to being near the fire. Her head barely hit the small cloth pillow before sleep had taken her.


	6. Going her Own Way

Chapter 6: Going her Own Way

They travelled for the next few days, meeting very few other travellers along the road. Jaskier spent his time writing new songs, and singing his old ones that had helped make Geralt the most famous Witcher. Geralt and Jaskier would speak sometimes, but Ciri stayed mostly silent, unless spoken to directly. Every evening, she would groom the horses while the two men would prepare the camp for the night. They settled into the routine easy enough, and they never suspected that there was anything wrong with the girl. 

Yet, there was so much on the girl’s mind. She had the feeling Geralt was feeling trapped, having to cart her around and move at a slower pace because of her. During the evenings, when they thought she was asleep, she had heard them talk about a bad fight they had had, where Geralt had blamed Jaskier for ending up with the child-of-surprise. This stung; was she really so bad to end up with? But of course, she knew that answer. What grown man wanted to be stuck with a strange, magic-child who was being hunted? 

This is what kept her silent. She did not want to be more of a nuisance than she already was. The lightheartedness she’d felt at the beginning of their travels, had turned to full-blown guilt at even existing. A part of her began to wonder if she should leave the group, run off in the middle of the night and find somewhere else to hide out, until her enemies assumed she was dead. 

It was late in the night, Ciri was asleep in her bed roll when she was startled awake by the sound of metal clashing. “Kill the men, and take the girl!” a gruff voice shouted. Jumping up, Ciri looked around quickly, wide-awake and adrenaline pumping. Bandits, unconnected to the people tracking her she assumed, surrounded their camp. Each man, dirty and gross with wild facial hair, clamped a sword tightly in their hands. Geralt had his sword driven through one of them already, while Jaskier held a dagger in front of himself, his hand shaking slightly. 

Standing up swiftly from her bedroll and fumbling for the dagger next to her supplies, she could hear Geralt’s sword slicing through the men with practiced-ease. Before she could get a firm hand on her dagger, a man grabbed her from behind, his mouth covering her mouth and pulling her tightly against his body. “Aren’t you a pretty thing…” he hissed into her ear, making her body shudder in disgust. 

He began to slip back into the trees, and she panicked, trying to flail and get free, but he completely overpowered her. She could see Geralt slashing through the few remaining men, his eyes beginning to frantically look around until they locked on her being pulled back. Instantly his eyes darkened, and he bolted forwards, sword up. “Let her go, and I promise to kill you quickly,” Geralt barked, golden eyes giving a look that could kill. 

Ciri felt the man tremble slightly, but still cold steel came up to press against her throat. “Drop your blade Witcher, or I swear to the Gods I will slit her throat.” A tear slid down Ciri’s cheek as she looked at Geralt with wide eyes. She didn’t know what to do. 

A strange look passed through the Witcher’s eyes, and unbeknownst to Ciri, that was fear that flickered through those golden orbs. He began to lower his sword slowly, laying it on the ground and raising his hands. He did not even notice the figure moving up behind him quickly, and Ciri’s eyes widened as she saw the blow coming. The bandit who was hiding behind the trees, slash Geralt across the back, grazing him as the Witcher jumped forward at the last moment. 

The man holding her startled backwards when Geralt jumped, and his hand flew off her mouth. Instantly, Ciri screamed into his ear, her powerful magic causing his ear drums to burst as he flung himself away from her. She was thrown to the ground hard, but she still backpedalled away from the man, grateful when Jaskier appeared next to her and pulled her aside. 

Geralt, already with his sword in hand, decapitated the man who’d cut him from behind, before darting forwards and snatching the man who’d tried to run off with Ciri. He slit his throat, shallow so he would die slower, but enough that he would for sure die. “Rot in Edom,” Geralt spat, throwing the man into the dirt. Whirling around, he moved over to Ciri as he sheathed his sword. “Are you hurt?”   
Shell shocked and still shaking, she whispered out “no”. 

Geralt nodded, secretly relieved as he moved back over to the camp. Jaskier guided Ciri back down to her bedroll, before he moved over to the Witcher’s side. “We should wrap that,” Jaskier murmured, indicating to the cut along the broad man’s back. 

Grunting, Geralt sat and removed his shirt, allowing the Bard to dress his wounds. Ciri watched, curled up in a tight ball in her bedroll. Geralt had gotten injured because of her. She wasn’t a gift; she was a curse. Tears fell from her eyes as she mushed her face into her palms, trying to keep from shaking. 

Hours passed as the night deepened, but sleep would not come to the girl. She could eventually hear the snores of Jaskier and Geralt, filling the eery silence of the night. Not knowing what she was planning to do, Ciri rose from her bedroll, and moved over silently to her horse. She couldn’t stay here. Perhaps if she left, the boys’ lives could go back to normal… 

Grabbing Aspen’s reins, she quietly untied the mare and mounted, before riding out of the camp. Leaving behind her items, her dagger, and the two men who meant more to her than she could even believe. Perhaps she would come to regret leaving them, but at least now they had the chance to move on with their lives, and pretend she was never there. They would no longer be hunted by the Nilfgaard, and they could go back to the way things were. 

Once she was far enough away that she knew Geralt’s sensitive hearing couldn’t hear her, she urged Aspen up to a gallop, trying to put as much distance between them and herself before they would awake to find her missing. It was dark out, and she couldn’t see well except for the light cast down from the half-moon, but her horse followed a trodden path faithfully, taking her way from her worries. 

Meanwhile, a few hours later, as the sun kissed the horizon, Geralt’s eyes snapped open with the instant feeling that something was wrong. Sitting up, he looked over to Ciri’s bedroll and jumped to his feet when he saw that it was empty. Turning around rapidly, he looked over to where the horses were, his stomach dropping when he saw that only Roach and Beast stood tied. “Fuck.” Geralt snapped loudly, as he moved forwards and roused the bard. “She’s gone. We need to go.” 

Jaskier woke up instantly, looking around to confirm what Geralt had said. Upon seeing the empty bedroll, his brows instantly furrowed. “Why would she leave? Where would she go?” he asked, standing up and quickly grabbing all their things and shoving them into packs. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt said, obviously confused by where the girl had gone. There were many dangers, and so many looking for her. Perhaps after last night, she didn’t trust him to keep her safe?   
Throwing their gear onto their horses, Geralt adding Ciri’s stuff to Roach’s saddle, they mounted and quickly moved out, Geralt following the tracks and smells of Aspen. He had to keep his panic supressed, trying to stay focused so that he could follow the limited tracks. He needed to find the girl, quickly before she got herself killed or kidnapped. 

He was going to tie the girl to his hip if he had to when he found her.


	7. Of Delicate Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how fast paced this is moving, but I just want to get all my ideas out as fast I can... Unfortunately that means it's turning to be a very quick paced beginning. Perhaps I'll figure out how to slow down my writing... one day.

Chapter 7: Of Delicate Matters

Ciri rode long into the morning, pushing her horse to gallop and only giving the mare short trot breaks between running bursts. The poor horse was drenched in foamy sweat and panting hard when Ciri finally allowed her to walk and pulled her off the path. They couldn’t stay on the road, or else she would eventually be found out by either her enemies or Geralt, if he was even searching for her. Part of her thought he was probably ecstatic upon waking, and had moved on.

Moving off the path, she pulled her Aspen into the trees, moving slowly as they navigated between the thick oaks. It took all her power not to panic in fear, as they moved into unknown territory. Ciri wasn’t naïve, she knew there were horrible monsters that lurked out in the world, but she’d rather tempt fate with them, then risk being captured by the Nilfgaard. 

After a long period of walking, they came to a small clearing with a river that ran straight through the middle. Dismounting Aspen, Ciri walked forward cautiously, looking around for threats before moving on out into the open, and led the horse to the stream so she could drink. The two drank from the cool, clean water, quenching their thirsts from the hard hours of travel. 

Leaning back on a rock, Ciri held the reins loosely, allowing the mare to graze on the green grass that grew along the riverbank. The quiet munches soothed the girl, lulling her into almost sleep as the sun peaked through the tops of the trees, casting a warm light upon her. She dozed for a while, feeling calm, despite being alone in the woods. Of course, that couldn’t last forever. 

A sudden jerking on the reins in her hands caused her to start awake. Aspen’s head had flung up, turning to look into the trees off to their right. The horse’s nostrils flared, and the whites of her eyes were visible as her head flung up even higher. As the horse danced nervously, Ciri stood up and looked into the trees, unable to see what was making the horse nervous. 

“Shh, there’s nothing there,” Ciri soothed quietly, trying to stroke the mare’s neck. The horse only grew more agitated, and began to pull back, tugging on the reins that Ciri held in her small hands. With one strong tug, the reins slipped free and Aspen reared back before turning and bolting back the way they had came. “No! Aspen!” 

Her shout did nothing, as she watched the back of her horse disappear back into the trees. Instantly, Ciri felt cold, alone, and scared, as her eyes darted back to the trees where Aspen had seen something. Peering into the shadows, Ciri watched for a moment, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw a dart of moment in the thicket. Moving backwards fast, Ciri began to move in the direction of where Aspen had run off, her eyes never leaving the treeline. 

A shape began to crawl from the trees, moving in her direction. Slowly, the shape became fully visible to her, and her heart skipped a beat. A wolf-like creature, with long gangly limbs, was stalking towards her on all fours. It had bright yellow eyes, and it’s red tongue hung from it’s mouth that was lined with sharp teeth. Deep growls grumbled from its chest, as it began to move towards her. 

Moving backwards further, Ciri felt a scream rising up in her chest as she turned to run. As she turned, her foot caught on the roots of the trees and she fell to the dirt, the wind knocked out of her leaving her unable to make a sound as the creature lunged at her. Teeth and razor claws were heading straight for her throat, and all she could do was shut her eyes tightly in fear, as she shrunk down against the dirt. 

-/-/-/-

Geralt was furious and anxious and stressed and every other bad emotion as he rode Roach at a full gallop. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t found Ciri yet, despite the pace they moved at. Jaskier’s poor pony was huffing and puffing as they urged them on, trying to cover as much ground as possible. “Dammit,” Geralt shouted, pulling Roach to a halt. His body moved in time as Roach’s pants rocked the mare’s body. Jaskier stopped Beast, the pony lowering his head instantly and letting out a few coughs between his deep, heaving pants for air. “The tracks stop here.”

“Well she didn’t disappear,” Jaskier snapped, worry eating at him for the girl. She could be in serious danger, and she was all alone. “Did she head into the trees?” 

Geralt looked around him, trying to determine which was the girl would have gone. As he looked into one section of trees, his sensitive ears picked up on a sound. When Jaskier began to pipe up, Geralt snapped at him to shut up for a minute. The sound began to get louder, and he realized it was the sound of horse hooves running. His head shot towards the sound, and Jaskier’s head looked too as even his ears finally heard the sound. 

After a short few seconds, Aspen flung out of the trees. Reins flying beside her, and tack slamming around on her back, emphasizing the lack of rider, she just about collided with Roach in her panic. “Fuck, easy now!” Geralt snapped, grabbing the mare’s reins as she moved to run past Roach. He gave one hard yank and snapped the mare out of her panicked state. “Calm down.”

He chucked the reins to Jaskier, who caught them awkwardly, as Geralt turned and kicked Roach into a gallop in the direction Aspen had come from. He heard the growls before he saw the beast, and his heart stopped as he emerged into a small clearing, seeing Ciri looking at a werewolf. Throwing himself of his horse, sword already in his hand, he ran towards the girl. 

Ciri had turned to run, only to fall straight to the ground. Geralt felt his slow-beating heart nearly stop as the beast lunged, intending to kill the girl where she lay. Too bad for the awful creature, it was blocked by Geralt’s sword as he sliced the werewolf along his side. With a loud roar, the thing landed off to the side and flung around to snarl at Geralt, who had planted himself in front of Ciri. 

Ciri looked up in shock when the blow never came, and inhaled when she saw Geralt standing in front of her, sword bloodied and drawn as the werewolf charged again. The battle was quick, with Geralt killing the creature off with a few, well-timed, effective blows of his sword. The werewolf was skinny, and clearly unprepared for a fight with an experienced Witcher. 

When the wolf finally lay dead, lying in its own pool of crimson blood which filled the air with the smell of iron, Geralt turned to look at her. She flinched back when he stepped towards her. He was probably angry with her, and she wasn’t prepared to get yelled at. Thus, she was shocked when his warm arms suddenly enveloped her, pulling her into his chest as his nose fell into her wild hair. “Dammit Ciri,” he murmured. “What were you thinking?” 

Tears instantly pooled in her eyes as a hard sob forced it’s way out of her throat. She couldn’t even speak as the powerful sobs wracked her body, tears falling freely from her eyes as she cried into Geralt’s shirt. Her hands clenched to clutch him, hanging onto him like the lifeline he was. “I’m-I’m sorry,” she choked out. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, rubbing it soothingly as she cried, as she cried for the fear she’d felt, and of relief she felt that Geralt had came for her. 

They stayed like that for a while, as she continued to cry, venting out all her pent up emotions as Geralt held her tightly. She couldn’t live without him, and she could now accept that.


	8. Dreaming of Terror

Chapter 8: Dreams of Terror

Geralt, though he would deny it for the remainder of his existence, felt like the stars had realigned now that Ciri was back and safe with him. She sat behind him on Roach, the only other person he would even dare allow to ride the mare, arms wrapped around his waist to stay in the saddle. They slowly worked their way through the forest, allowing Roach to navigate the path calmly and safely this time around. 

Jaskier was waiting for them, sitting on top of Beast and holding Aspen’s reins with a put-out look on his face. He smiled when he saw Ciri behind the Witcher, clearly unharmed from her time fleeing. “Aspen! You found her!” Ciri grinned, and before Geralt could grab her, the princess swung off the back of Roach and darted over to her bay mare. Scratching the mare in one of her favorite itchy spots, she cooed quietly: “I’m so sorry girl.”

Jaskier huffed, his arms crossing over his chest when Ciri took the reins from him. “She didn’t even miss us, Geralt. Not one bit.” 

Ciri gapped at the Bard, her jaw dropped as she fumbled for words. “What? No, that’s not true… I just-“ she trailed off, not sure how to explain herself quite yet. 

“That’s enough Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, even though he too, wanted to know why the girl had fled. “She won’t do it again, or I shall tie her to Roach.” 

Ciri swallowed hard, certain he was joking, but she didn’t dare risk it. There was no where safe for her without Geralt, and she wasn’t going to tempt her fate again. She just hoped the man didn’t hate her for getting saddled with her for life. 

A yawn suddenly escaped the Princess, and she blushed with embarrassment, her hand shooting to cover her mouth as it stretched open. Her exhaustion was catching up on her fast, and she suddenly felt a little less stable on her feet. Noticing this, Geralt swung off of Roach and took Aspen’s reins from the girls fingers, tying the leather ropes to the back of his saddle. “You ride up front, then you can sleep,” Geralt stated, already hoisting Ciri up into the saddle and plopping her down. Gracefully, he swung up into the saddle and settled in behind her. 

Ciri opened her mouth to protest, but as Geralt’s arms came around, one hand keeping her in place while the other grabbed Roach’s reins, she felt too warm and safe leaning against his broad chest. They began to move out, Jaskier humming some tune he had made up, lulling the girl into a peaceful sleep as all the tension left her body. 

-/-/-/-/-

_Ciri walked out of the woods, the warm, tropical biome rapidly changing to one of snowy tundra. The wind picked up instantly, howling sharply and is stripped the hood from her head and sent her hair waving in sharp snaps. The hair on her body stood on end as goosebumps rose across her flesh. There was no longer any sun, just thick dark clouds casting a dark shadow across the open plain.  
Trudging through the thick and heavy snow, white powder up to her calves, her shoes were filled with snow. “Geralt!” she called, her voice echoing, getting carried off by the wind. She didn’t know how she’d gotten back here, or where Geralt and Jaskier were. This growing need to find Geralt was all she could focus on. “Geralt, please!”_

_As she moved across the frozen tundra, her heart skipped a beat when she caught glimpse of some tall monster disappearing into the tree line. Ciri shuddered, and moved away from where the thing had gone, trying to avoid being seen. Moving on, for what felt like an eternity, she finally felt scared enough to start calling._

_“Geralt!” she called, desperation filling her voice as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Geralt, please, where are you?!”_

_There was no answer beside the wind, every howling at her, and burning her cheeks with its icy sting. The tips of her fingers had turned blue, and she lifted them up into her armpits, in a feeble attempt to bring some warmth to them. The cold hurt her ears, and her mind was getting a little foggy as she wished for a warm fire to curl up next too. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs, making them unbelievably heavy, and she began to think about stopping for a break…_

_Peering across the snowy landscape, a dark cloaked figure on top of a horse appeared along the horizon. Relief blossomed in her chest as she screamed: “Geralt! Over here!”_

_Picking up pace to a run, which was difficult with the deep snow and her toes being nearly frozen, she headed for the dark figure that was galloping towards her. Her happiness rapidly turned to horror, as the figure lifted a bow and strung an arrow while the horse bolted full speed towards her. With the realization that it was not Geralt, but rather the dark knight Cahir, she turned and began to run the opposite direction._

_A loud whizzing sound met her ears moments before a sharp blinding pain pierced her calf. Falling to the snow, she let out a scream of pain and looked down to see an arrow jutting out from her leg. “Geralt!” she screamed louder, tears pouring as she tried to get up and keep moving, only to fall back to the snowy ground. “Where are you?! Please help me!”_

_Another arrow jammed into her shoulder, sending her face first into the snow. The pain was intense, and she could feel the warm sticky blood seeping from the wounds. Glancing behind her, she could see the horse was almost upon her, and the next arrow was pointed straight for her face._

_“Please don’t,” she cried, hands going up to shield her face as she lay down in the snow. “GERALT!” ___

__“Cirilla!” She realized she was falling, no longer freezing cold and being held onto tightly by thick arms. Her eyes flew open as she realized she was heading for the ground at a terrifying speed. Geralt was wrapped around her and rolled them so that it was his back that hit the dirt, taking the brunt of the fall. A loud huff of air escaped Ciri as she slammed down onto Geralt’s chest, while a grunt of pain rumbled through his chest at the impact._ _

__“Dammit,” Geralt cussed, as he looked up at Ciri who was wide-eyed and shaking._ _

__“What happened?” Ciri murmured, as she moved to get off his chest, flopping hard onto her butt beside him. Geralt sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in his back as he rose. Resting an arm on his knee he looked at her in exasperation._ _

__“You were having a nightmare,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed. “Screamed bloody murder and scared the shit out of Roach and the other horses. I couldn’t hold on with you in front and we fell in her panic.”_ _

__Ciri looked around and saw that all the horses and Jaskier were gone. She turned to look back at the Witcher, guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her hands which were clenching her dark robes._ _

__A heavy hand came forwards and brushed her hair out of her face. Looking up, she saw Geralt’s eyes soften. “It’s alright,” he rumbled. “You’ll just have to make it up to Roach and Jaskier, who is surely gone for the ride of his life. Poor pony ran like the devil was after him.”_ _

__Geralt rose to his feet, and held a hand down to help Ciri up. Tentatively, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand. As she stood and looked around, she spotted Jaskier riding back towards them, Aspen in tow (her reins broken from snapping off Roach’s saddle), and Roach was trotting loose beside them. “A little warning next time Princess,” Jaskier stated, his hair askew as he stopped in front of them. “That was quite the ride.”_ _

__“Little pony can run after all,” Geralt chucked, as he grabbed Roach’s reins when she came to stand next to him. “You, on the other hand, no better to bolt.”_ _

__Roach blew hard on his face, her ears pinning for a quick moment. Geralt just rolled his eyes, and turned his gaze to Aspen’s broken reins. “There’s an extra set of reins in my bag,” Jaskier chimed in, reaching into Beast’s saddle bag and grabbing a spare set of reins._ _

__Accepting them, Geralt quickly exchanged them for Aspen’s broken ones and helped Ciri back onto her horse. “Let’s keep moving then,” Geralt stated, as he swung onto Roach._ _

__So off they went, following the path towards the next town._ _


	9. Lara the Kind

Chapter 9: Lara the Kind

They came upon a small village, a handful of houses and farms scattered around a clearing, with a peaceful stream that ran through the center. There was a large community field, filled with draft horses, cattle, donkeys, and sheep, munching away peacefully at the green grass that grew beneath their hooves. Chickens and geese wandered freely in their flocks, surrounding the water wheel which moved steadily with the speed of the flowing water. 

Ciri smiled as she watched a few small children chasing each other, laughing and giggling as they played tag. Her childhood seemed so long ago, even though she was only 12 years of age. The kids screamed playfully, running between the old, rickety houses while the parents tended to the chores. 

As they got closer, Ciri noticed people looking at them with frightened looks, and the parents began to usher the kids inside. “What business do you have here, Witcher?” one of the men asked, approaching them and looking at Geralt in disgust. 

“Just seeking a place to rest for the night,” Geralt replied, ignoring the dirty looks he was receiving from the villagers. Ciri cringed under their gaze as they looked at her with scorn.   
The man scoffed. “You are not welcome here,” the man replied, arms crossing. “Take your whore and servant and leave.” 

Ciri jolted at that, looking at the man in shock. Whore? She turned to look at Geralt, who’s posture had stiffened and his eyes grew cold. Before Geralt could open his mouth, a plump woman with a young child balanced on her hip came up and shoved the man hard. “Blast you Adum,” the woman cussed, her expression angry. Her eyes softened as she turned to them. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to ignore him. He’s cruel to all visitors. Come, we have space for you in my home and you are more than welcome.” 

“Bless you, kind lady,” Jaskier smiled, receiving a warm one in return from the woman. 

“The name is Lara,” the woman said, re-balancing the baby as she turned and led them to a small, but humble looking home. There was a small pen on the side, where one small horse stood eating grass. “Lars! Come see to these travellers’ horses.”

A young boy, no older than 14 came and bowed politely to the Witcher, Ciri and Bard. The trio dismounted, tying their horses to a post. “I’ll take care of them,” the boy murmured, looking at the three horses in awe. 

“Be polite,” Geralt said to Roach, as he finished tying the knot to the post. 

They followed Lara into her home. It was a rustic home, with a fire place against the far wall, lit brightly with an orange flame. A small kitchen was in the one corner, and on the opposite sat a table and four wooden chairs. Down the hall, there was three bedrooms, one for Lara and her baby, and the other for her older boy. “My husband died recently, some sort of sickness,” the woman said sadly. Shaking her head, she turned to smile at them. “But he left me with two beautiful sons, and a wonderful home.” 

Ciri smiled in return. Lara looked at her kindly. “Would you be able to watch him for me, dear?” The woman held out the baby, no older than 7 or 8 months. 

Shocked, Ciri nodded and tentatively took the baby and propped him in her lap as she sat down. Geralt and Jaskier sat to the table, the Bard talking to the woman and complimenting her on her home. Ciri stared at the baby, looking at it’s chubby round cheeks and rolls on its arm. Innocent brown eyes gazed up at her curiously, before one of its small hands came up to pull lightly on a lock of her blonde hair. “Aren’t you such a sweet child,” Ciri cooed, smiling at the baby. 

Never had she held one before, but instantly her heart swelled with tenderness. Bouncing the baby up and down gently on her knee, she smiled when it giggled, fingers opening and closing as it laughed. Geralt and Jaskier looked over, surprised to see Ciri interacting with the baby. “She’s a natural,” Lara grinned, watching her baby happily. “What is she to you gentleman? One of yours’ child, or a sister?” 

Geralt shifted uncomfortably, leaving it to Jaskier to pipe up. “She was a child who lost her family to war,” Jaskier frowned, not really lying but leaving out the important details. “We saved her and got attached to each other. We had no choice but to take her with us.” 

“How devastating for her. Do you not live a dangerous life Witcher?” Lara asked curiously, looking at Geralt with no fear when his golden eyes turned to stare at her. “Would she not be safer in a home, not travelling the countryside hunting foul monsters?” 

“There is no safer place for her, than with me,” Geralt rumbled, turning to look at Ciri once more. Ciri had heard this interaction, but gave no indication as she continued entertaining the young baby. The Princess couldn’t agree more; there was no where she felt safer, than at Geralt’s side. 

“Hmm,” Lara hummed, but said no more as she moved over to the fireplace and began tending to a stew she had brewing. 

The baby yawned wide, eyes squinting shut and its toothless mouth opening up. Ciri smirked and placed the baby against her chest, it’s head cradled in the crook of her neck. She rubbed it’s back gently, listening as his breathing evened out and sleep took him. Leaning her head back against the wall, she listened to the sound of the fire, tuning out the quiet conversation between Jaskier and Geralt. 

She had no idea how much time had passed, when Lara’s face appeared before her as the woman handed her a bowl of stew. “Here, I’ll take him,” Lara murmured softly, gently taking the child from her and moving him over to a small bassinet in the corner of the room. 

Ciri looked down at the warm bowl in her hands, the delicious aroma filling her nose as she inhaled deeply. Appreciative for a hot meal, she brought the spoon up to her lips and took a sip. It was wonderful. With more speed than decent for a Princess, she ate the stew. Geralt looked over, surprised to see that Ciri was already done her meal. 

“Has she been eating enough?” Lara asked concerned. 

Ciri flushed a deep red, and answered before the men could get the chance. “Yes, they provide me with more than enough food. I just forgot my manners,” Ciri said, half-lying. She had been eating much smaller portions lately, knowing that whatever she didn’t eat, Jaskier and Geralt would eat. She didn’t want to take food from them. 

Geralt looked at her strangely, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Averting her eyes, she looked at her bowl. Lara was suddenly in front of her again, a ladle in hand as she put more stew in her bowl. “Eat your fill sweet child, there’s plenty to go around.” 

Ciri looked at her bowl, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she looked down at the hot meal. She ate a bite slowly, chewing a piece of potato, as her mind moved to her grandmother. Lara spoke to her just as her grandmother had. The tears couldn’t be held back, and they fell over her dirty cheeks, leaving clean trails down her face. Her shoulders shook with the effort of keeping the sobs in, her hands trembling on the bowl as she ate another bite. She placed the bowl down next to her, and reached her hands up to wipe her eyes. Before she could touch her face, she looked at her dirty hands, no longer the clean polished fingers of a princess well cared for, but dirty for the homeless, street rat she now was. Her beloved grandparents were both dead. No one was left of her blood. 

Warm arms enveloped her; Ciri instantly recognized them as Geralts’. With her forehead pressed firmly against his chest, she allowed the sobs out, crying hard and getting out her emotions. Geralt lifted her up easily. “Thank you for the meal, Lara,” Geralt’s voice rumbled through his chest, and Ciri could feel it against her chest. “We shall retire for the night. It’s been a stressful time for her.”

Geralt carried Ciri to the spare room where they were to sleep for the night. Placing Ciri on the edge of the bed, Geralt removed his armour and sword and boots, before sitting on the bed against the headframe and pulling Ciri against his chest. Sobs still shook her small frame, and his stone-cold heart clenched. She was suffering, with good reason, and he was helpless to ease it. He did not know what to do, so he just stroked her back as she cried, soaking through his shirt with her salty tears. 

It was a long time, or at least it felt like it to Geralt, before her tears slowed and her sobbing eased. The loud wailing into his chest had softened to just light hiccups, her shoulders trembling slightly. Reaching down, he moved her thick locks from her face and used his thumb to wipe away the remaining tears along her cheeks. “What’s on your mind princess?” Geralt mumbled softly, his chest rumbling from his words. 

Ciri sniffed, before looking up at Geralt with wide eyes, her eyes red and puffy from all the crying. “I miss my grandmother,” she hiccupped again. Seeing her like this, really drove home for Geralt that she really was still a young child. “There’s no one left… It’s just me. I’m an orphan, and no one’s alive to even care that I’m still here. It’s selfish, I should be grateful that I’m still alive, but… I sometimes think it would’ve been easier and more peaceful if I had died.”

Geralt took a deep breath, his grip tightening on the girl just a bit. He wasn’t good at words, but he would have to try. “You are not alone Ciri. You have Jaskier and myself, who care about your wellbeing and health. Orphan perhaps, but many kids are. You are blessed to carry the memories of your grandmother, and grandfather, and Mousesack, and your parents. But you were meant to live. Jaskier and I need you, just as much as you need us.” 

Ciri looked up at Geralt in shock. Not sure what to do with the tense mood, she smirked. “That’s more words than I’ve ever heard you say, Witcher.” 

Geralt looked shocked for a minute, before scowling at her playfully. “You cheeky little brat,” he grinned, ruffling up her hair as she lay back on his chest. 

A quiet laugh shook the girl’s shoulders, as she relaxed into his warm embrace. It did not take long for her to fall asleep, listening to the sound of his slow heart-beat in her ear.


	10. Yennefer

Chapter 10: Yennefer

Loud screams and the feeling of being shaken woke Ciri. Jolting upright, she saw Geralt leaning over her, his armour and gear on and all ready to go. “What’s going on?” Ciri asked, the sleep wearing off quickly as the smell of smoke filled her nostrils. 

“Nilfgaard,” Geralt hissed, pulling her up from the bed. “We need to move Jaskier!” 

Ciri’s head flung around to see Jaskier rising from the floor, where he must have crashed for the night. “On it Geralt. I’ll get Lara.” The Bard disappeared out the bedroom door, but his voice rapidly shouted: “Geralt! We have a problem!” 

Ciri followed Geralt as he darted after Jaskier, and she felt bile rise up in her throat. The house was on fire, arrows flying through the door and one had clearly hit Lara, who lay with the arrow jutting out of her throat. “Fuck,” Geralt cussed, grabbing Ciri’s arm and pulling her outside towards the horses. 

“Tack them up Jaskier,” Geralt shouted, as the three horses pranced up, nostrils flaring nervously at the burning arrows and smoke that filled the air. Ciri coughed into her robes, looking around. To her horror, Lars was lying next to the horse pen, arrows sticking out of her chest. Geralt pushed her towards the horses, as Jaskier worked to catch the three so they could be tacked up. “Don’t look.” 

Something suddenly flashed in Ciri’s memory, and she shrieked, ripping back from Geralt's grip and running back into the house. “Ciri! Dammit!” 

“I’ll be right back,” Ciri shouted back, as she bolted through the front door, spluttering from all the black smoke. The sound of swords clashing echoed, and Ciri stiffened when she heard Geralt yell before the swords met again. 

Baby cries met her ears, and Ciri exhaled as she moved over to the bassinet quickly. Reaching inside, she pulled the baby up carefully, placing him on her shoulder and keeping his face in her hair as she went to run back towards the door. Before she could reach the opening, the roof partially caved in, flames shooting out from the increased oxygen. 

Ciri let out a loud scream as embers kissed her skin, charring her flesh as she shot backwards. The baby was wrapped up, and she hoped that he hadn’t gotten burned. Moving towards the hallway, she realized that she was at a dead end. There was no other exit to the house. “No, no, no,” Ciri muttered, looking around desperately, more coughs coming out as the thick black smoke burned her lungs.   
Luck seemed to be her on her side, when the thin wall got shoved through by a large hulking frame. The white haired man instantly soothed her worries. “Geralt,” she breathed. 

“You stupid, reckless girl,” Geralt snapped, his large hand moving to wrap around her arm as he pulled her from the house. “You don’t run into fire!” 

“I had to,” Ciri coughed out, spluttering a bit. Moving her other arm, she showed the baby, live and well to Geralt. His eyes softened slightly, and he shook his head in awe. Of course she’d gone back for the baby. He couldn’t believe that in the rush, he’d even forgotten its existence. 

Moving over to where the three horses were tacked and tied, Geralt hoisted Ciri up onto Aspen. “I- I can’t ride with a baby,” Ciri shouted over the roaring flames, that now engulfed the house. Geralt looked at the baby and cussed, before taking it from Ciri’s arms and cradling it in the crook of his arm, as he threw himself onto Roach. Jaskier was already on Beast, waiting impatiently. A couple dead Nilfgaard soldiers lay on the ground, bloodied and sliced apart from Geralt’s sword. Ciri looked away, wishing she would never see another dead body again. 

The sounds of men’s roars and more arrows flying met their ears. “Shit, run!” Geralt hollered, as they kicked their horses up to a full gallop, heading as fast as they could away from the small village. There were no survivors, other than the little baby. 

Ciri was almost numb as they rode on, leaving the smoke and fire and death behind in their wake. The only sound she made was the slight cough, as the sun rose and the hours passed. Geralt pushed them hard, wanting to put as much distance between the Nilfgaard and themselves as possible. He was relieved that the baby in his arms was quiet and slept the majority of the ride. 

They stopped after noon, moving off the pathway and into the tree coverage to stop for a breather and to let the horses rest and eat. Ciri slid off Aspen, not meeting Geralt’s eyes as she reached out to take the baby from him. The girl was silent as she moved over to sit leaning against a tree, as she rocked the baby. No emotion crossed Ciri’s face, and Geralt looked at Jaskier nervously. The bard merely shrugged, unsure of what to say about the kid’s behaviour. 

Geralt moved towards Ciri, looking down at her as she stared at the ground in front of her. After a long moment, she finally dragged her gaze up to meet his golden one. “We should have never been there,” Ciri said, her voice hoarse from the smoke. “It’s my fault they are dead.” 

“It is most definitely not your fault,” Jaskier piped up, moving to stand next to Geralt. “The only ones to blame are the Nilfgaard.” 

“If we hadn’t been there, they might still be alive… this baby might not be an orphan,” Ciri murmured, looking down at the sleeping baby. “We don’t even know his name.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “You do not know that. The Nilfgaard may have still attacked them. There’s nothing that could have been done for them, it was the hand they were dealt.”

“So, you found her, Geralt,” a feminine voice said from the trees. Their heads all flung around to look in the direction of the voice. A beautiful woman, young with gorgeous tan skin and black luscious curls walked towards them, her purple eyes staring at Ciri with curiosity. The power and strength that radiated from her left Ciri awe-struck. She instantly knew who the woman was, even before Geralt said her name. 

“Yennefer,” Geralt breathed, turning to face the woman. “How? Why are you here?” 

“I’ve been looking for you Geralt,” she smiled. “When I saw the village in flames, I had a feeling you were close by. Luckily I found you, and your child-of-surprise.” 

Ciri stood up, moving towards Yennefer with wide eyes. “You’re Yennefer,” Ciri whispered hoarsely. 

“What is your name, little girl?” the mage asked, but not unkindly. Her purple eyes shifted to look at the sleeping baby in her arms. “And who is this?” 

“My name is Cirilla. We saved him from the fire… we do not know his name.” 

Yennefer’s hand came up to brush the burns along Ciri’s face, making the girl wince slightly. “You haven’t kept her safe Geralt.” 

“She’s a hard child to keep under control,” Geralt snapped, looking at Ciri with his brow raised, but his lip was also curled up in a smirk. “Firey and determined. Much like yourself.” 

A warm feeling came from Yennefer’s fingers against her skin, and Ciri felt her shoulders relax as the stinging in her face and lungs disappeared. The mage had healed her. “Thank you,” Ciri said in awe.   
“May I hold him?” Yennefer inquired, indicating to the baby. 

“Of course,” Ciri smiled, passing the baby carefully to the mage. She watched as the mage cooed down at the waking baby, which smiled a gummy grin up at the woman, before reaching up and coiling his fingers in the black locks. “He’s the happiest and quietest baby I’ve ever seen.” 

Geralt watched Ciri and Yennefer with curiosity, while Jaskier purposely ignored the mage’s presence, choosing to speak to Beast instead. Yennefer looked up at Geralt, her eyes intrigued. “What do you intend to do with the baby?” 

Ciri’s wide blue eyes turned to look at Geralt, and his immediate answer got stuck on his tongue. Would the girl hate him if they dropped the babe off at the next available village? When she looked up at him with sorrow in his eyes as she guessed what he was going to say, he felt his stomach knot. No, he couldn’t live with himself if Ciri was upset with him. 

“You always wanted one Yen,” he quirked a brow at her. The mage’s eyes went wide as she looked down at the happy baby. 

Ciri looked curiously up at Yennefer. “You’ll keep him?” 

Purple eyes met her blue ones, looking almost excited as she glanced back down at the baby. “I… I guess I will,” Yennefer murmured, as she pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead. Her gaze suddenly went serious as she turned to Geralt. “We need to get moving, the Nilfgaard are on their way. I will portal us out of here.” 

“Even the horses?” Geralt inquired, looking at the three horses munching away on grass. 

“Of course.” Ciri’s eyes went wide when Yennefer held out a hand and a portal appeared, distorting the world around it, right in front of them. “Grab you horses, we’re going to my home.”

Ciri grabbed Aspen, and watched as Jaskier stepped through the portal, having to almost drag beast into the opening. Tentatively, she walked up and looked back at Geralt. He nodded at her, gold eyes blank as she stood in front of the portal. With a deep breath, she led Aspen through. Luckily for her, the mare put up no fight. 

When her foot hit the ground next, she and her horse were standing outside a huge castle, standing by itself on a sandy beach, the waves of the ocean crashing against the rocks behind her.


	11. The Island

Chapter 11: The Islan

The sun was casting a warm, bright glow, which reflected off the pearly white sand that covered the ground. Cerulean blue water kissed the shores, crashing in waves that sent the tide up and over the rocks. Birds called in the air, circling overhead as they scoured the sea for any available fish; waiting hungrily for their next meal. The sand eventually turned to a beautiful grass field, littered with a few lush trees and bushes that covered the island. Overlooking all of this, was a grand stone castle, with large towers and a huge gate that opened up into a courtyard. 

Ciri’s breath was taken away at the sight of it. She had never seen anything more beautiful than this small island. “Do you like it?” Yennefer’s voice came from behind her, startling the blonde child.   
Looking back at the brilliant purple eyes, Ciri nodded with a wide smile, her gaze seeing Geralt next to the mage, his face looking impassively at the large castle. “You’ve been busy Yen,” Geralt mused as he looked around. 

“Just needed a place to call my own,” Yennefer shrugged, as she began walking towards the palace. The baby continued to sleep in her arms, not stirring once as they walked.

“No monsters around here then?” Jaskier asked, looking around at the island.

“Nope,” Yennefer grinned at the bard. “No one even knows this island exists. It’s purely my own, with a few staff to keep things going.”

“Well, maybe I’ll move in,” Jaskier chuckled. 

Ciri rolled her eyes at the bard as they walked closer to the castle. There was a large pen and stable, where they turned their horses loose onto the lush pasture grass. They all smiled, even Geralt, as the three horses ran around the many acres of grass. Two black horses with thick manes and tails, came trotting up from the back of the pen, greeting the newcomers with snorts and ear flicks. Beast turned his butt to them and bucked, before running off and shaking his head with a loud whinny. 

“Dramatic boy, just like his owner,” Yennefer commented, before smiling down at the baby asleep in her arms. 

“Hey!” Jaskier snapped, turning to the mage with a feigned hurt expression. Ciri giggled quietly.

They walked through the front gates, and up into the large castle. The front room was a grand entry-way, opening up to a wide hall, decorated with paintings and lit up with candles and torches. A deep red carpet marked a pathway along the floor, leading up a double staircase, which opened up to long hallways, lined with rooms. They came to corridor, and Yennefer gave them each a room; Jaskier on the left, Geralt in the middle, and Ciri on the right. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Yennefer waved at the rooms. “The clothes in your rooms are yours, so feel free to them. Baths have been drawn for you in each room. So clean up and be down for dinner in an hour.” 

With a flick of her black curls, Yennefer disappeared down the hall with the baby, Geralt’s eyes following her until she turned the corner. Ciri took her bag and walked into the room that was to be hers. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge four-poster bed, surrounded by a blue silk canopy then hung around the bed. A large wardrobe stood to the side, and Ciri felt her stomach flutter at the site of the beautiful dresses arranged within. This was more than she had when she was back in Cintra. It felt wrong to her, to have done nothing to earn the generosity of the mage. 

In the corner of the room was a large tub, filled with hot, steaming water that beckoned Ciri like a siren’s call. With the door shut, she undressed and moved over, sinking into the water. A soft moan escaped her as she felt the warmth sink into her skin, relaxing her stiff and tense muscles. It had been so long since she’d last been in a bath. For a few minutes, she just sat there leaning against the tub-wall, her eyes shut as she basked in the feeling. Deciding she better get to work, she opened her eyes.

On the edge of the tub was a handful of bottles of different oils and soaps. Reaching up, she grabbed a couple to smell them and picked one that smelt of vanilla. Scrubbing herself clean, she scrapped at the dirt and grime which coated her skin until she was spotless. Then she began to work on her hair. The mud was caked in and matted into her locks, and it took a long time before she was able to get her hair completely clean. 

Finally satisfied, she stood up and wrapped herself up in a towel that was draped over the side of the bath. Slowly, Ciri dried off her body and then her hair, goosebumps raised on her skin from the cool air kissing her skin. She moved over to the wardrobe and skimmed through the dresses that were hung up, before finally choosing a blue one that matched her eyes.

Once dressed, she put on a pair of shoes that sat next to the wardrobe, and moved over to the large mirror hanging on the wall. With her hairbrush, she began to work through the knots, brushing out all of the tangles until her hair was soft and hung around her in loose waves. 

Looking at her reflection, upon first glance she looked like she used to. The young princess of Cintra. As she stared at herself longer, the differences became apparent. Her eyes were wild and aged, no longer innocent and youthful, but instead showing that she had seen more than her fair share in her short life. Her cheekbones stuck out in sharper angles, her face having lost its roundness from the lack of food. Her collarbone was visible as well, the loss of weight noticeable. Circles lay under her eyes, showing the world that she was exhausted. As she analyzed herself, she realized she was looking very different from the innocent princess she once was. 

Rubbing her eyes to keep the tears back, she held her head up and moved to the door as a knock sounded. “Ready for dinner?” Jaskier’s voice called through. 

Ciri opened up the door, to see the bard leaning against the door frame. He had washed up as well, and had his hair hanging around his face, water droplets still falling from his locks. He was now dressed in a colorful orange and red outfit, which definitely suited his nature. His eyes widened when he looked at her. “My Gods, don’t you look beautiful?” Jaskier smiled at her widely as he bowed. “Would you allow me the honor of walking such a gorgeous princess to dinner?” 

She looked at his arm held out to her with a smile and a blush. “Of course,” she grinned, curtsying automatically from the years of practice, as she took his arm and allowed him to guide her down the hall. “Where is Geralt?” 

“He is so smitten with Yennefer,” Jaskier chuckled. “Already gone on his way to see her.” 

Something in Ciri churned at that, almost making her upset. Which made no sense, she liked Yennefer, and she liked Geralt, so of course she should be happy they were romantically involved. Yet… something felt off to her, but she couldn’t place the feeling. She stayed silent, not commenting on what Jaskier had just said. 

They walked into the grand dining room, where Yennefer was seated at the head of the table, with Geralt seated on her right, the two talking in quiet tones, a small smile on both of their faces. They looked up when Jaskier and Ciri entered, and Yennefer smiled brightly as she looked at the young girl. “You look stunning,” the mage said, as she waved for them to sit down on her left. Ciri sat between the mage and Jaskier, right across from Geralt who was watching her with an impassive expression. 

As soon as they sat, servants appeared carrying trays of food, which was placed delicately in front of each of them. The tops were removed, revealing large servings of chicken, potatoes, carrots and fresh bread. The wonderful aroma filled the air, and Ciri felt her stomach rumble lightly at the idea of a nice hot meal. “Tuck in,” Yennefer said.

There were no words to be shared as they ate, the three hungry travellers just enjoying the food. Geralt and Jaskier’s servings were larger than Yennefer’s and Ciri’s, yet they at an unbelievable speed. The food was delicious, and Ciri ate as much as she could hold. Her stomach couldn’t handle large quantities of food, after going without for so long, but she pushed down what she could. 

When she placed her fork down, Yennefer looked at her. “Surely you can eat more than that, my dear,” she stated. “Don’t be shy.”

“It was wonderful, thank you,” Ciri replied, remembering her manners. “But I find that I am rather full.” 

Yennefer nodded, understanding, before turning back to Geralt, asking him to tell her more about how he had found Ciri and what he had been up too since she’d seen him last. Jaskier chimed in every now and then, but Ciri tuned them all out. She was tired and for some reason she felt a little sour towards Geralt. He’d hardly spoken a word to her or even looked at her since their arrival to the island, and his lack of actions stung. 

“May I be excused?” Ciri asked after the conversation quieted. “I’m feeling rather tired.” 

“Of course,” Yennefer smiled at her. “Do you remember the way to your room?” 

“Yes,” Ciri replied quietly, standing up and giving a slight curtsy as she bade them a goodnight, not looking anyone in the eye, lest they see the tears that were stinging her eyes. Moving down the hall, she went back to her room and shut the door behind her. 

The tears finally fell as she pulled her dress off and draped it over the wardrobe hook, before collapsing into the plush bed. Her tears soaked the pillows, as she cried for her aching heart. It was still so hard for her, having lost everything and had so much change. Now with Geralt alienating her, she felt so alone. These sad thoughts and her tears hung onto her as she fell asleep.


	12. Emotions are Hard

Chapter 12: Emotions are Hard

Ciri awoke when it was still dark, and after a long time tossing and turning. She was unable to return to sleep while thinking about her grandparents, her long-gone parents, her friends turned sour, Dara, Mousesack, and everyone else she’d lost. Sighing at being unable to sleep, she decided to go outside for some air, and slid into one of the dresses that Geralt had gotten her. Opting to leave her cloak, she quietly tiptoed out of her room. 

Much to her disgust, loud moans came from Geralt’s room, belonging to both him and Yennefer. The sound of slapping skin met her ears, and she cringed away, turning to move down the hall as she wrinkled her nose. There was a small door that led outdoors beside the main entrance, and quietly as possible, she opened it and moved into the fresh, salty sea air. 

Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back as a gentle breeze kissed her skin. Moving down the rocky pathway, Ciri moved towards the horse pen, where the four horses and one pony stood grazing together in the moonlight. The sun was below the horizon, but way off at the edge of the sea, Ciri could see a slight orange glow, indicating the coming sunrise in the next couple hours. 

Aspen moved up to the gate, greeting her as Ciri leaned over the railing to pet her beautiful mare. “Hi girl,” Ciri cooed softly. “You won’t leave me, will you?” 

The bay mare blew out of her nostrils, eyes bright as she looked at Ciri. “Would you like to go for a ride?” 

Grinning, Ciri slipped a bridle on Aspen and used the fence to hop on her bareback. She used to ride bareback when she was a kid all the time, much to her grandmother’s chagrin. There was nothing like feeling the warmth of your horse, their body expand and compress with every breath, and the feeling of connection with them as you ride without the boundaries of a saddle. 

Guiding Aspen towards the beach, they rode through the sand at a relaxed walk on a loose rein. Ciri smiled to herself, gently petting the mare’s thick neck as they stepped into the water. The soft waves passed over Aspen’s hooves, the sound soothing as they moved on, no destination in mind. As the time passed, the castle became a small building in the background, and the sun began to appear on the horizon. 

Ciri brought Aspen to a halt, as she turned and watched the sun rise. It casted beautiful orange, pink and purple hues across the sky, hitting the few small clouds in a spectral of colors. Never had she seen a sunrise like this one. Moving Aspen a little deeper into the water, Ciri urged her up to a canter, her body rocking in time with the horse’s long strides. Her blonde hair whipped back up behind her as they ran through the water, sending up a rain-like spray behind them. 

Tossing her head back, Ciri smiled as she felt free and in control for the first time in probably her whole life. The rush and freedom was intoxicating, as she urged Aspen to move faster. Eager to run, the horse obliged and spread her stride wide, covering a large amount of ground between each leap. Her horse’s breath struck with every stride, and Ciri’s followed suit as they ran as one.

By the time Ciri pulled Aspen to a walk, they were on the opposite end of the island, with the castle unable to be seen when looking back. Moving over to a small patch of grass, Ciri released Aspen to allow her to graze. She took off her shoes and tied up her dress over her knees before moving to walk through the soft sand and into the shallows of the salty water. She stood there for a while, looking out at the endless sea as the waves licked at her ankles, the cool water raising goosebumps along her skin. She’d never seen the ocean before, and it was truly a wonderful sight. 

The sun finally was in the sky, brightening the day and warming up the island. As she took a moment to appreciate that she was alive to witness such a beautiful scene, a loud voice shouted, interrupting her thought. “Princess! Princess Ciri!” Jaskier’s voice called to her from a far. Looking in the direction of his voice, she saw him riding beast, galloping towards her. “There you are, for the love of god you had us all terrified this morning when you vanished.”

“I’m surprised Geralt even noticed,” Ciri responded, unable to keep the sourness out of her voice as she crossed her arms. Jaskier pulled Beast to a halt right beside her, looking at her with a saddened expression. 

A loud sigh came from the Bard, as he leaned forward on Beast’s neck to look at her. “You honestly can’t expect much from Geralt, my dear princess. He is dim-witted and thinks very little about how his actions effect those around him. It’s not uncommon knowledge that Witcher’s don’t really have emotions.”

Ciri turned to look at him, her brows raised. “He can’t feel anything?” 

“Well, he can… but Witcher’s are trained to push their feelings down so far, that they basically can’t feel anything.”

“Sounds lovely,” Ciri snapped, wishing she didn’t have to feel the millions of emotions that she’s been feeling for the last couple of months. 

Jaskier frowned at her, and for some reason, Ciri thought the expression looked really foreign on his face. Rarely was the man ever serious, and it seemed odd. “You should never envy Geralt for that. Emotions are wonderful, even though there are the bad ones, could you imagine never feeling happy? Or joy? Or love? It would be such a dark and gloomy existence. What’s the point on even living if you can’t feel those things, even just once in a while?” 

Ciri thought about this for a moment before she nodded. “He’s been different ever since we got here… he hardly even looks at me.” 

Jaskier sighed. Geralt was hung up over Yennefer hard, but the bard knew that the Witcher and mage were not meant to be. The Witcher had a strong pull to the lion cub of Cintra, but of course she was still a child. He just hoped that Geralt didn’t alienate the princess in his attempts to avoid her and deny his destiny. He couldn’t explain any of this to the girl, for she was still too young, so he just shrugged. “Geralt and the mage have a past, and he hasn’t seen her for a while. They’re just catching up, I’m sure he’ll be back to normal in no time,” Jaskier lied. 

“I hope so,” Ciri said, as she grabbed Aspen’s bridle and slid it onto her mare. Using a large rock, Ciri swung up onto Aspen. Faking that she felt better, she smiled at Jaskier. “Race you back?”

“Loser has to brush the horses,” Jaskier winked, before urging Beast back up to a gallop. 

Ciri followed suit with Aspen, who quickly caught up to the plucky pony and passed him with her long, graceful strides. “No fair!” Jaskier cried out from behind her. 

“Don’t be a sore loser Jaskier!” Ciri called back as she pushed her mare on back in the direction of the castle. 

They arrived way too fast, in Ciri’s opinion, as she reined in her sweaty and panting mare outside the castle’s horse pen. Jaskier was a few minutes behind her, and his poor pony looked ready to collapse by the time he pulled up next to her. Passing her reins to the pouting bard, she thanked him in advance for grooming Aspen, as she gave her mare a goodbye rub before heading back into the castle. 

She hoped that Geralt was not waiting for her, but of course, that was not the case. As soon as she walked into the large castle, she was met by a very angry-looking Witcher. “What were you thinking?” he snapped at her, voice hard and cold. 

Ciri instantly recoiled back from him, her back hitting the door. “I couldn't sleep… I just went for a ride,” she managed to whisper out, her blue eyes wide. 

“You’re being hunted, by people who would do worse things than kill you. Are you trying to get caught? You would carelessly throw away your grandparents and city’s sacrifice, by risking being captured?” his words stung her, like a knife slowly being driven into her heart with every word. She couldn’t hold back the tears that came, as she shook life a leaf. Ciri was angry at his words. 

“How dare you? Where were you when our city was being burned?” Ciri’s voice started out quiet, slowly gaining in volume as she continued. “You knew I was bound to you, I know that you knew! Yet you forsaken me and my grandparents, and left us to be murdered. I saw our women being raped, I saw children being ripped apart, I saw men having their insides pulled out while they were alive. I know what they would do to me, many have tried already. So where were you? Bound to me, to protect me, and he leaves me to die?” 

By the time Ciri was done, Geralt was looking at her in both anger and shock, while her body trembled even harder. Exhaustion hit her hard, having finally gotten some of that off her chests. Moving past him, she went back to her room, while the Witcher stayed where he was, making no move to follow the broken-hearted girl.


	13. Discussions

Chapter 13: Discussions 

“It’s been two days Geralt,” Yennefer snapped. “The girl hasn’t eaten, she won’t speak! She can’t keep going at this rate, her body won’t be able to survive.” 

“Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it?” Geralt snapped. His life was much simpler when it was just him and Roach. Hell, it was easier when it was just him, Roach and Jaskier. The addition of women was making his life so much harder. 

“Go talk to her! You said an awful thing to her,” the mage replied. “She’s a teenage girl. Her life has been nothing but difficult and confusing, and she still needs time to process it all. Your pigheadedness is getting you nowhere.” 

“Flattered,” Geralt sneered. 

“Go speak to her now, or so help me I’ll portal you off this island and raise her myself,” Yennefer hissed at him, her purple eyes speaking volumes about how angry she truly was. 

Geralt leaned back, pondering the mage for a long moment before he grunted and pushed himself back from the table. “Fine.” 

The Witcher lumbered down the hallway slowly, running a hand over his face. A monster, no problem. Humans cursing his very existence? Easy. But a young kid whom he had hurt? He felt like he was about to march into Hell. 

He reached up and opened the door, not bothering to knock on Ciri’s door as he barged in. The girl wasn’t on her bed, but rather sitting in the corner of the room, her head leaning against the wall as she stared at the wardrobe in front of her. Geralt cringed when he saw that she was losing more weight, looking like a ghost of the princess she should be. Dark circles were pronounced under her blue eyes, emphasizing that she hadn’t been sleeping. Even her hair lacked life, limply sitting tangled over her shoulder. 

“Ciri,” he rasped out. The girl startled, as if she hadn’t heard him enter, and her head rolled over to look at him. She didn’t even have the energy to turn to look at him properly. She never said anything, just watched him with eyes that reflected the sadness and pain in her soul. Geralt had to avert his eyes, feeling like he might drown in her suffering if he stared at her eyes any longer. 

Geralt stepped forward and sat a few feet away from her, noticing that she stiffened when he approached. As he got comfortable against the wall, she beat him to speaking first. “I’m sorry I said such horrible things to you.” Her voice was like a croak, raspy from not being used and from so much crying over the last two days. “They aren’t true. You have no responsibility to me or my family, and it was wrong to blame you for Nilfgaard’s actions.” 

A loud sigh slipped past Geralt’s lips. “No, you were right. I was supposed to be there that day, but I failed. I’d planned on taking you away with me, and even tried to act upon it… but it seemed it wasn’t meant to be.” 

“What happened?” Ciri questioned, eyes showing a spark of curiosity.

He couldn’t tell her that her own Grandmother had locked him up, which had probably sealed everyone’s fates. “Destiny intervened,” he mused, half lying. “I was unable to get to you. I will tell you more when you’re older.” 

Ciri huffed at that. Adults always insisted that kids couldn’t know anything until they were “older”. At thirteen years of age, her birthday having passed during her travels, how much older did she need to be to hear things meant for “adult” ears? She said nothing in return.

“You are still angry,” Geralt stated, golden eyes looking at her curiously.

Ciri avoided his gaze, looking at the floor. “You’re treating me differently here. You have hardly even looked at me or spoken to me since we arrived.”

Geralt ran a hand over his face as he let out a long sigh. He couldn’t explain to the girl why that was, so he opted for a half-truth. “I got… overwhelmed seeing Yennefer again. So much has happened, it was good to know that she’s doing alright. I have always lived a solitary lifestyle; I am not used to looking after anyone else or having them need me. I will try to do better.” 

That was really all Ciri could ask, though she was still bothered by his relationship with Yennefer for whatever reason. She nodded and replied: “I forgive you, even if you’re not sorry for it, I will forgive you anyways.” Her grandmother used to say that to her, when she had done something wrong but didn’t want to admit to it. Perhaps Geralt was hiding more, but Ciri knew better than to press further. 

Geralt grunted, before standing up. “Let’s get you something to eat,” he held his hand out for her to take. She placed her small hand into his large one, and allowed herself to be pulled easily to her feet. Geralt didn’t like how skinny and frail she looked. He made an internal vow to make sure that she was eating and taking care of herself, even if they were having a dispute. 

They moved to the dining hall slowly, with Ciri being a little unstable on her legs after spending the last two whole days in her bedroom. Thankfully Geralt was patient with her, and said nothing as she lumbered along, wobbling slightly. It felt good to be up moving again, and while Geralt’s strange behaviour still weighed on her mind, she figured she could get past it. 

Once in the dining hall, she sat down at her spot and happily noticed a simple meal of porridge and bread sitting on her platter. Geralt indicated for her to start eating, while he sat across from her where a mug of ale was sitting. He quickly tossed back half the mug, before placing it back down on the table. Ciri lifted the spoon to her lips, enjoying a bit of her pleasant porridge, which was sweetened with sugar, just how she liked it. 

Foot steps sounded from the front of the hall, and she turned to see Yennefer approaching them with a big smile, the young baby sitting on her hip. “Cirilla! It’s good to see you up again. How are you my dear?” 

“I’m alright,” Ciri shrugged, her eyes moving to the baby. “Does he have a name yet?” 

Yennefer smiled brightly. “Yes, I have decided to name him Bran. As long as you agree on that name.” 

“I think it’s perfect,” Ciri grinned, eating another bite of porridge. 

The mage moved to her seat at the head of the table and sat down. “Once you have your strength back,” Yennefer started, “I shall begin to train you in the ways of magic. You seem to have an unbelievable amount of power, and I’m going to help you learn to harness it, control it, and use it.” 

Ciri’s eyes widened as she swallowed some more porridge. “Really? What will I be able to do?” 

“That remains to be seen,” Yennefer winked at her, smiling as she bounced the baby up and down on her knee gently. 

“Your mother had a great deal of power as well,” Geralt commented. “It will take a great deal of time for you to fully understand your abilities, but it will be worth it in order for you to protect yourself.”

“What are you going to do while I am learning?” Ciri questioned, her eyes narrowing a bit. 

Geralt shifted in his seat. “I’ll be here, training you as well in combat. Once you are ready, we will start taking on small jobs, and get you prepared to fight whatever beast or monster comes your way.” 

Ciri gulped. She had to learn to fight monsters? The idea made her stomach churn, and she looked down at her empty bowl suddenly wishing she hadn’t eaten that much food. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.”

“Of course you will,” Yennefer stated. “With magic on your side, and the knowledge of the sword, you will be unstoppable. Besides, you have a lot to learn before then. Now, would you like to watch Bran for me for a while?” 

Ciri nodded and accepted the baby, cooing at him softly when he grabbed a lock of her hair and looked at it with wide, curious eyes. She could probably get used to living here… at least she felt safe, with Geralt and Yennefer and Jaskier.


	14. Making a Puddle

Chapter 14: Making a Puddle

“Yes! That’s wonderful, keep your focus!” Yennefer urged, her body leaning forward with excitement. Two weeks had passed, and Ciri had gotten much stronger, physically and mentally, with good food, proper rest, and the teachings of Yennefer. Her magic was coming along, as she currently tried to use the life force from a bundle of flowers to draw water up through the sand outside. 

“This is an important lesson, in case you are ever somewhere without a water source,” Yennefer started. “You can almost always access water through the earth, you just need to learn to draw it up. As your magic ability grows, your strength will, and you will no longer need to use the lifeforce of things around you, as you will pull the ability from your own magical core. This will replenish as you rest and regain your strength, but if you use too much, you will die.

“Once you have learned more, if you need more than your body can give, then you must use the lifeforce of stronger beings around you. For instance, a large tree will provide you more power and strength than a flower.”

Ciri nodded in understanding as she held her palm out to the earth, trying with all her energy and willpower to pull the water up from beneath the sand and to the surface. She had to intentionally search with her magic for the water, working through the layers of sand and dirt to find the cool liquid. Sweat started dripping from her brows, and the flowers in her hand were withering quickly. Using more of her own strength, Ciri reached down deeper and grasped onto the water, yanking the stream free to the surface. 

“Yes Ciri, that is wonderful!” Yennefer smiled, her hands clasped. Ciri released the magic as the water sat in a small puddle in front of her. Her knees shook, trembling with her own exhaustion. It was amazing being able to learn and do magic, but it was annoying how draining it was to use it. However, she noticed she wasn’t quite so tired from the smallest of tasks anymore, so perhaps she was getting better. “That was impressive for your first attempt. Congratulations. You have such a strong aptitude for magic.” 

Ciri smiled under the praise. “Thank you for being such a good teacher,” Ciri said, her breath evening out after the strenuous activity. 

“We’ll call it a day,” Yennefer said, even though it was only just around noon. “Go on in for lunch, there will be a plate for you at your seat.” 

“Ok!” Ciri said, giving a quick curtsy before turning to dart off back into the castle.

Yennefer was correct. A warm plate with a sandwich and broth was sitting at her place at the table. Sitting down eagerly, she began to wolf down the food, hunger gnawing at her stomach after all the energy she had used. 

“Woah, hungry there Princess?” Jaskier’s voice came from beside her. 

Turning to face him, her cheeks full of bread and meat, she blushed darkly when she saw his amused look. Gulping unfortunately loud, she used her napkin to wipe the crumbs off her face. “Sorry Jaskier, just a little hungry.”

“Oh don’t apologize, I am just joking around Princess,” he chuckled, moving to sit beside her. “I saw the way you pulled the water up from the ground. That was pretty cool.” 

“Thanks,” Ciri grinned, as she took a bite (much smaller than her last) of her sandwich. 

“I’ll have to ride a ballad to celebrate your mission of becoming a mage,” Jaskier grinned. “ _Our dearest Princess, all the magic she has learned, with all the tragedy, she had finally learned. Our finest mage-to-be, with the golden locks, our hearts she’ll steal, as easy as she talks. _”__

____

“That’s terrible Jaskier!” Ciri laughed. “Surely the creator of ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’ could come up with something better than that.”

__

“Don’t insult my newest creation!” the bard exclaimed, slapping a hand to his heart in fake-hurt. “I shall write a song for you one day my princess. One to tell of all your battles and wins in the world.”  
Ciri’s expression softened as her smile grew gently. “I eagerly shall await that day,” she said. 

__

“Then I shall begin to get to it.” Jaskier grinned at her, before standing up from his seat and skipping out of the dining hall, leaving Ciri to laugh at his retreating form. 

__

Ciri finished her lunch in silence, thinking about nothing in particular. Once finished, a servant appeared and took her plate from her. “Thank you,” Ciri said, before standing from her seat and moving to go back outside. 

__

She quickly captured Aspen and got to work grooming the mare. She wanted to spend some quality time with her horse, to give her a good groom and massage, to show the mare that she appreciated all the travelling and running around they did together. “Such a pretty mare,” Ciri cooed, as she worked the brush through Aspen’s soft coat.

__

The bay mare was simple in appearance, compared to the horses her grandmother had owned. Queen Calanthe had always appreciated the Friesian horse, which was thick and had a luxurious amount of hair. Ciri thought they were stunning horses, but she also appreciated Aspen’s finer boned looks and beautifully colored coat.

__

“Yennefer tells me you’re excelling in your magic lessons,” Geralt rumbled, coming up behind her. She turned to look at him as he approached her. He looked so different without his armour and weapons, his shirt hugging his bulky frame impressively. The blue shirt and leather pants combo seemed to work for him, and Ciri wished he didn’t have to be in armour so often, always prepared for the many fights he always finds himself in. It seemed unfair that his whole life was sacrificed to ending the monsters that terrorized humans. 

__

“She seemed happy with today’s progress,” Ciri smiled, as she turned back to keep grooming Aspen. 

__

Geralt stopped to pet Roach, who had poked her head over the fence when he approached. Ciri thought their bond was really sweet, despite the Witcher claiming he had no love for the horse, but Ciri knew better. He loved that horse, and she could tell. “We will begin your swords training tomorrow,” Geralt stated, as if it was a simple fact and not a life-threatening task that made Ciri’s stomach drop to her feet. 

__

“What?” she inhaled, turning to look at him. “So soon? Surely I am not ready yet…” 

__

“You are ready,” Geralt’s head turned to look towards her, his eyes amused. “We shall start in the morning.” 

__

Ciri said nothing, as she shifted back to face Aspen, continuing her grooming. Her stomach churned anxiously, as she thought about what tomorrow morning would bring. Swords were dangerous. She’d seen many soldiers maimed in their training, and had heard the stories of young boys losing fingers or hands while in training. Surely Geralt wouldn’t injure her… but she wasn’t 100% certain. He was a rough man, with thick skin and patience for nobody. Perhaps he wouldn’t care if she lost a finger or two in training. Gulping, her mind thinking of all the worst possibilities, she continued to groom her horse, unaware of Geralt watching her with sincere amusement.

__


	15. Lesson #1

Chapter 15: Lesson #1

“You’re holding the hilt incorrectly,” Geralt grumbled, moving Ciri’s hands to the proper position on the hilt of the dull blade. She kept her feet planted in the position he had showed her, scared that if she moved she would forget where to place them. 

“Won’t these cut us to little bits?” Ciri asked, eying up the silver blade in her hand and his with unmasked fear. 

“You won’t be able to get a hit on me,” Geralt smirked, twisting the thin sword in his hands with an evil glint in his eyes. 

Ciri gulped, her mouth gone completely dry. “So you’re just gonna slash me to little bits?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course not. These blades are so dull, they couldn’t cut paper. Run your fingers along the blade.” Ciri did as he said, and was surprised to feel such a defined curve on the blade. “The worst they will do is leave bruises. Now come at me.”

Ciri’s stomach twisted as she looked at Geralt, his sword in one hand as he stood waiting for her to attack him. Lifting her sword, she brought it down towards his torso, only for him to quickly lift his arm and her blade ricochet off of his. The metal-on-metal contact sent a shockwave up her arm, causing her to drop her sword. “Pick it up,” Geralt barked. “You are weak, no muscle or strength. Swing again.”   
Picking up her sword, she looked at him again and swung. He easily blocked the blow. “Again!” She swung. He blocked. “Again.” 

This continued, Ciri moving forward and stabbing, and slicing, just trying to land a blow on the Witcher. He blocked every move with such ease that you would think he was swatting a fly away. This continued for a long time. Frustration filled her, and she wished she could land a blow, to show Geralt that she could do this. Yet nothing worked. Every swing was so weak, with strength that could never match the Witcher’s, and she was so slow, that he could easily have stepped out of the way if he’d wanted to. 

Her frustration made her strike faster and harder, the metal sending harsh quakes up her arms with every hit. She had never once held a sword, and she never imagined it would be so taxing just to wield one offensively. Despite the discomfort and exhaustion in her muscles, she continued to swing. She did not want Geralt to be more disappointed than she was sure he already was. She kept going until her arms trembled with every blow, and sweat beaded down her brow, stinging her eyes. Her knuckles were white from the firm grim she had on the hilt. Yet this continued, and Geralt did not allow her to stop until she hit her knees. 

Her breath came out in pants, as she struggled to catch her breath. Her shirt was soaked with sweat, her hair wild from the effort, and her pants dirty from the sand she kneeled in. Geralt looked completely put-together, as if he hadn’t been blocking her blows for the last hour. “We have a lot of work to do,” Geralt said, as he picked up her sword and put the two blades back against the wall with all of the other training gear. “Same time tomorrow.” 

Ciri gawked at him as he turned his back to her and walked back toward the castle. He had to be joking. She was going to be stiff and tired for days after this, and she was jumping right back in tomorrow?

Grumbling to herself, she dragged her aching body into the castle and back to her room, where an already steaming tub of hot water waited for her. She peeled off her sweat-soaked clothes and tossed them in a pile by the door to be taken and laundered, before climbing into the bath. The smell of lavender and something spice-like hit wafted up her nose as she sank back into the hot water. Perhaps Yennefer had something added to the water to help ease her muscles.

Either way, it was so relaxing that she stayed sitting for almost an hour, her mind thinking of nothing in particular as she sat there. She had a magic lesson with Yennefer early tomorrow morning, followed by the sword lesson again with Geralt. Between the two of them, they were going to turn her into a puddle of exhausted princess.

A long time had passed before Ciri finally gained the energy to wash her hair and body, ridding herself of all the sweat and grime of the morning. Once satisfied that she was clean and no longer smelled like a street urchin, she pulled on a simple blue dress from the wardrobe and slipped on her shoes. Then she set out to find some lunch.

The hallways of Yennefer’s castle were so eerily empty. Her grandmother’s castle always had servants and knights and other members of royalty wandering the halls. There was always someone around to talk to or to at least see. Here, she was lucky if she passed one servant on her walk through the castle halls.

The servants must have read her mind again, as a plate of bread and veggies sat at her table awaiting her when she entered the dining hall. Silently she ate alone, wishing there was someone her age in the castle to speak with. Yennefer was probably off with Bran, while Geralt and Jaskier were off doing God-only-knows what. It would be nice to have someone to keep her company, but adults had better things to do than sit around and entertain a lonely princess.

Sighing, Ciri ate what she could of her meal, before departing outside to go spend some time with Aspen. Her limbs were getting heavy and sore from the workout earlier, and she knew she was going to be extremely sore tomorrow.

Aspen nickered at her when Ciri approached the pasture gate. “Hey beautiful girl,” Ciri said softly, moving her hand to rub the mare’s neck gently. She opened up the gate and placed the halter on Aspen, before leading her out to the tie post by the barn. There, she began the long, peaceful task of grooming the mare, making her almost sparkle in the afternoon sunlight.

Her horse had put on more weight and muscle now that she was in a happy environment, and not on the move constantly. Ciri was sure the same could be said about her, as she noticed she filled her dresses out a bit more now and had more energy and life to her. She felt better physically, now Ciri just needed to work on healing mentally. Though, that was probably going to take a great deal of more time.

Moving into the barn, Ciri grabbed an apple from the treat stash, and held it out in front of her. Aspen looked at it curiously, before taking the whole thing in one big bite. “Aspen!” Ciri scolded, laughing despite her shock. “You’re supposed to bite it!”

She watched as the mare struggled to chew the large apple, but grinned when the mare finally got the right angle and chomped down on the apple. The munching could be heard, and a bit of apple juice and spit slipped between the mare’s large fuzzy lips, landing on the ground in front of them. Ciri laughed again as she moved to untie her mare and released Aspen back into the field.

Looking around, Ciri smirked when she saw all the other horses looking at her expectantly, almost as if they were wondering why they hadn’t gotten apples. After a long moment of staring at them, Ciri dropped her shoulders. “Alright, alright, I’ll groom the lot of you. Spoiled horses,” she chuckled.

So that’s how she spent her afternoon, alone with the horses, taking the time to groom each one and spoil them with an apple before returning them to their green pasture. It was a good day in her opinion, and she kept grooming until the sun set and the dark began to settle in.


	16. Leaving So Soon

Chapter 16: Leaving So Soon

Weeks passed, as Ciri grew stronger and wilder with her daily training. It had been a long transition period; learning to deal with the hours of training that required both physical and mental strength. She had come such a long way in her magic, and her swords skills were slowly improving. Yennefer was impressed with her, Geralt was as stone-faced about the whole situation as always, while Jaskier was wishing they had allowed Ciri more time to be a child.

He had commented a few times on the fact that she no longer acted like a child. Ciri had grown quiet and contemplative with her training. She could still laugh and have fun but spending the days around stoic Geralt and the inquisitive Yennefer, she was finding it hard to maintain her youthful outlook on life. She was working harder than most kids her age and had far more skill than most girls ever get to have. Her time not spent training, was spent listening to Jaskier’s newest compositions, or riding Aspen.

Geralt finally trusted the island to be safe enough for Ciri to go exploring on her own, so off she went in the afternoons she had free, racing around and seeing what the gorgeous island had to offer. She wanted for nothing, or at least they believed. She was grateful for what she had and that she was still alive to enjoy it, but she longed for the familiarity of her grandmother, for her home, and for the friends that had forsaken her.

As the days grew colder, Geralt had moved their training inside, to avoid Ciri catching her death out in the snow. When she was fighting, she got to warm and sweaty to be able to wear layers, and that would surely be a bad thing if they were to fight outdoors. When she rode Aspen, she had to dress up in thick layers of clothing in order to stay warm in the frigid air.

Right now, she was sparring with Geralt, her sword held in front of her in the proper position, while her feet in the correct stance. He moved towards her with an offensive blow to her head, which she blocked and parried with a swipe of her own. Back and forth they swung, moving around each other as they looked for openings, and Geralt quickly found his.

Geralt’s sword smashed against her side, knocking the wind out of her as she got shoved sideways. “Don’t leave your side open!” he grunted, moving to attack her again without allowing her to catch her breath.

A bruise was already blossoming on her side, and her breath felt like it had been stolen from her lungs, but she tried to pay no mind. Taking a shaky short breath, she blocked his next blow which sent vibrations up her arms. He was getting offensive, and she had no choice but to take the defense, blocking each blow with no opportunity to get a strike in of her own.

Her weakness frustrated her, as well as her lack of speed. No human could best a Witcher, so why was Geralt expecting her to? A 13-year-old child with no previous training could never get a hit in on a Witcher. Yet she felt like he was disappointed in her after every lesson. Her shoulders shook in exhaustion as she continued to block the blows that came, her fear starting to rise as his blade got closer to striking her again.

She already had bruises from previous training sessions, and she wished to not add any more to her collection for the time being. But that was wishful thinking. His sword, faster than she was, grazed her thigh, knocking her to the ground with a loud thump. Her sword fell from her hands as she grabbed the offending spot on her leg, bidding the brutal pain to subside. “We are done for the day,” Geralt said. He indicated for her to follow him. Standing up, trying not to limp with her pained leg, she followed him through the castle to the dining hall, where Yennefer sat waiting for them at the table, Bran bouncing up and down on her knee.

“How did that go?” Yennefer asked with a kind smile.

“More bruises,” Ciri grumbled, taking her seat next to Yen.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” Geralt interjected, as Yennefer turned to look at him with anger. She thought he was too hard on Ciri, but Geralt wouldn’t concede. He wanted her trained and toughened up and was adamant to do it his way.

“We are going to be leaving,” Yennefer said, looking at her steadily.

“What? Where are we going?” Ciri asked, not liking the sounds of this already. She had just gotten comfortable here, and the idea of being uprooted again was unpleasant.

Geralt’s molten eyes locked on hers. “We are going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Vesemir, an old teacher, still resides there and will aide us in your training.”

“Are you going to turn me into a Witcher?” Ciri asked, eyes wide as she looked between Yennefer and Geralt.

“HA!” a loud laugh came from the end of the hall. Ciri turned to see Jaskier walking up towards them, his lute strapped to his back. “Absolutely not, I’d never allow it.” He winked at her, though she could see the seriousness in what he had said.

Geralt rolled his eyes at the bard. “You are not becoming a Witcher, but the training will undoubtedly be an asset to you. You already have magic; we just need to unlock more of it. This will enhance your speed, hearing, sight, and abilities. Vesemir will be helpful in this.”

Ciri nodded slowly, her stomach churning. “When would we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Yennefer answered, looking at the girl almost sadly. “I will have the servants pack up your belongings and prepare them for you tomorrow morning. You will have to say goodbye to your horse until you return.”

“What? Aspen can’t come?” Ciri shouted, her anger surprising her. She had gotten very attached to Aspen, and the idea of leaving her behind was not a pleasant one.

Geralt shook his head. “There is no place for horses in Kaer Morhen. Our horses will remain here until we return in several months’ time.”

Ciri looked down at her hands in anger. They were uprooting her so soon and separating her from her horse. It was hardly fair, but she knew she would get absolutely no say in the matter. “May I be excused?” she asked sourly, not looking anybody in the eye.

“Of course,” Yennefer replied after a moment.

Ciri quickly stood up and all but ran out of the dining hall, going outside to see her horse. She heard Jaskier’s voice scolding the others. “I told you she wouldn’t take that well,” he snapped. She did not catch the rest of what he said, as the castle door shut behind her.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she moved towards the horse pasture, where Aspen stood watching her curiously. Lunging into the pen, Ciri mashed her face into her mare’s neck, and sobbed harder than she had in quite some time.


	17. Kaer Morhen

Chapter 17: Kaer Morhen

Kaer Morhen was built up the side of a mountain. It was a large fortress, build high of stone which overlook the valleys and forests below. They were up so high that the clouds touched the walls, casting a light mist over the towers in the warm morning sunlight. Tall mountains rose high behind the castle, blocking out the horizon by their vast height. Snow layered everything in a blanket of white, adding to the beautiful scenery.

Jaskier whistled. “This is where you learned your Witchering?” he gawked, as they stood on the entry way bridge facing the large entry doors. Ciri’s stomach was still churning from the portal entrance, but she took deep breaths trying to ease the tenseness. “Looks more like a vacation home to me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes as he ignored the bard’s words, leading their small party forwards towards the castle doors, where an old man stood waiting for them.

The man was very tall, almost the same height as Geralt, and had white hair which dusted his shoulders, though the receding hairline was obvious. His nose was rather large, sitting on top of bushy grey moustache and stubbly beard. Amber eyes looked at them with interest, and his Witcher emblem hung proudly on his chest. This was surely Vesemir. He was dressed in long black robes, which brushed the ground as he walked forward and placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you Geralt,” Vesemir proclaimed in a gravelly voice, hinting at his old age. “I see you have indeed found the Child of Surprise. She is a beauty.”

Ciri blushed darkly, looking away from the man’s penetrating gaze as he analyzed her. “She has great magic,” the old Witcher continued. “Far greater than even that of the Mage behind you.”

“Really?” Yennefer asked with open curiosity. She did not sound upset about that, but rather… almost eager. Her purple eyes darted to Ciri. “That’s remarkable.”

Jaskier patted Ciri on the back. “Look at you princess,” he chuckled. “Gonna be stronger than even the crazy Mage one day. Perhaps you can take Geralt on for me and teach him some manners.”

Ciri cringed at the idea, still nursing the dark purple bruising from all their sparring lessons. She knew she had powerful magic, but the idea that she could take on either Yen or Geralt seemed more farfetched than her sprouting wings and flying.

“Had to bring the Bard, eh?” Vesemir grinned, his eyes dancing over Jaskier’s shocked expression to look at the baby in Yennefer’s arms. “Oh? Who is this lad? Is he yours?” His question was directed to the Mage.

“He’s as good as,” Yennefer stated, as she looked down at Bran with love in her eyes. “Cirilla saved him, and I am his new caregiver. We have called him Bran.”

“A strong name, for a child with great potential,” Vesemir said cryptically. “Come, let’s get you settled and then we shall show our guests around.”

They followed Vesemir to the castle doors, which he thrust open wide with magic. The large doors creaked and groaned but still flew open so they could enter the mighty fortress. The place was less grand than Yennefers’, and far older. The walls, made of old stone, showed its years in the cracks and dust layered in the seams. Emblems of the Witchers hung hanging from the walls, on banners and on rugs, clearly showing the pride in the mutant-race. Torches blazed with a blue flame, lighting the halls and grand entryway up in a cerulean glow.

Maps of their world and others beyond hung on the walls, with shelves of books and trinkets and preserved body parts of dead monsters. Weapons of all types hung on the walls; swords and shields, bows and arrows, axes and hammers, and whips of chain. Then there were paintings, all of Witchers lining the walls. They seemed to be of old teachers and founders.

They went up a flight of stone stairs and down a long dimly lit hallway. “The bedrooms for you are here. There are four, so one for each. The babe I assume will rest with you?” Vesemir turned to Yennefer.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Yennefer went into the room closest them on the right, while Jaskier disappeared into the one across from hers. Ciri moved to take the room next to Yen’s but realized that Geralt might continue to frequent the mage’s bedchambers here and decided to claim the room beside Jaskier. That way she might not hear what they were doing. She could hear Geralt speaking quietly with Vesemir as she entered her room.

The room was modest, smaller than the one she had at Yennefer’s castle, but still beautiful. There was a comfortable looking bed sitting under a large window, and a fireplace over in the corner with a bookshelf off to the side. There was no bath, but that was a luxury she never even had in Cintra. Cintra’s baths were in a specific wing of the castle, as she assumed, they were here in Kaer Morhen. A wardrobe stood by the door, and she began unpacking her back and placing her belongings inside.

A knock sounded on her door once she finished unpacking, startling her slightly. It was Geralt. “Vesemir is here to show you around the castle,” he rumbled. Ciri blushed lightly under his stare and moved to follow him out to the hall where everyone was waiting. Yennefer even had Bran, who was awake and watching everybody with interest.

They followed Vesemir through the castle, listening to him tell his tales of how the fortress was formed and how the Witcher’s first came to be. The stories of intense training and introducing mutagens into young kids made Ciri queasy and clearly Jaskier as well, who looked rather upset by the whole ordeal. Countless kids had died here, unable to withstand the trials. “This sounds like a torture chamber rather than a school,” the bard commented sourly.

“It was in some ways,” Vesemir replied, though he didn’t sound upset with that idea. Ciri got a strange vibe from the man, but still felt that he had no ill intentions. “Witchers are very important in keeping the monster races at bay, and unfortunately the only way to create them was with the trials. Very few had what it took to become one. I am sure Geralt here still remembers his days completing the trials and undergoing all the vigorous training.”

“I shall never forget,” Geralt replied, his expression almost pained for a moment, before returning to his normal somber look.

“You do not expect Ciri to undergo these trials, do you?” Yennefer snapped, looking between the two men with almost anger.

“Of course not,” Geralt snapped.

“The Witcher trials are no more,” said Vesemir sadly. “No woman has ever become a Witcher. None survived the trials. Even if she could survive, the teachers who knew how to mutate the kids are long dead. There is no one left alive who knows how to create Witchers. I simply teach combat and magic.”

“Thank the Gods for that,” Jaskier cringed, looking at Ciri with relief and pity.

Ciri did not fell comforted, as she knew her training here was going to be intense. A part of her wanted to refuse the training, to not participate, but she knew that giving up would mean her death if Nilfgaard ever found her. She kept quiet as they continued on, being shown the dining hall, kitchens, servants’ area, library, training rooms, and various other locations within Kaer Morhen. The place was old, and smelled of stale old leather, but Ciri guessed it would have to do for now. It was safe, and warm and she got to remain with her companions. That was all she required.

When they went back to their rooms after the long walk, Yennefer gently grabbed Ciri’s arm to stop her from going to her room. “Why don’t we go down to the baths and clean up before dinner?” Yennefer asked.

“Ok,” Ciri nodded. Yennefer passed Bran off to Jaskier to watch, before they headed down the halls to the baths, which was actually an underground hot spring in the belly of the castle.

The steam rose from the large pools, the scent of herbs and spices in the water beckoning them to get in. The large pool took up almost the whole cavern floor, and Ciri admired that this was a natural phenomenon that lay beneath the fortress. It was probably why the castle floor felt so warm, unlike traditional cold stone. Turning away from each other, they stripped and stepped into the hot water, which was deep enough that Ciri couldn’t go to the middle, or else the water would be over her head.

Yennefer grinned as the water kissed her chin. “This is so nice… this is what I need back in my castle,” the mage mused as she leaned her head back to get her hair wet.

Ciri agreed that the hot spring was a nice touch, as she dunked her head under the water for a moment before resurfacing. The water was almost green from the different herbs and magic placed upon the pool. It felt so refreshing and Ciri felt like even her soul was being cleansed as she relaxed in the hot water.

“What do you think of Vesemir?” Ciri asked quietly.

Yennefer sighed. “He has good intentions. Misguided ones in the past it seems, but I do not believe he is a danger to any of us. Geralt has high regard for him, despite knowing that Vesemir was involved in the making of Witchers, and the demise of so many human children. The old man thought he was doing what was right, and still seems to think that way.”

Nodding, Ciri looked down at the water. “I am scared for my training.”

“You have no reason to be,” Yennefer smiled gently. “Geralt would never see you in danger. A few bruises perhaps and some exhaustion, but you will come through it unharmed and stronger than ever. I truly believe that.”

“Thanks Yen,” Ciri said, feeling somewhat reassured, though not completely. They washed themselves, talking about simpler things, like Bran and Jaskier’s latest song, trying to keep the young girl’s mind off what tomorrow’s training would bring.


	18. Unlocking Ciri's Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Just been so busy with work, but here you go! :D

Chapter 18: Unlocking Ciri's Magic

The first day of training began with a simple breakfast of porridge and warm bread, before they all moved to the training room. Ciri was pleased to see that Geralt was going to be training Jaskier in fencing; at least she wasn’t the only one undergoing hard lessons. Everyone was dressed in their training gear given to them by Vesemir, which encompassed black stretchy pants, short comfortable shoes, and a long-sleeved black shirt. The gear was comfortable and allowed for easy movement.

Yennefer took a seat along the back wall, in a chair placed for her, while Vesemir guided Ciri over to the biggest part of the room. On the floor surrounding them, was a bright red circle painted to the stone. They stood facing each other, Vesemir seeming to contemplate something.

Geralt looked over towards them in sudden shock, his eyes wide and angry. “Vesemir! No,” Geralt shouted, moving towards them. His entire body was rigid, and Ciri could see the instant tension in his shoulders and the set line in his jaw.

Vesmir moved back a step, drawing Ciri’s eyes back to him. The old Witcher held up his finger towards Geralt. A grimace marred his face and his bushy brows furrowed. “Not another step Geralt. You know the way this works.”

“She is not trained, she cannot fight you yet,” Geralt argued, moving closer still, amber eyes locked on the old Witcher with fury. Ciri’s stomach flipped nervously, and she moved backwards to step out of the circle, only to hit an invisible wall. Instant panic set in as she whirled around, placing her hands on the invisible wall. Pushing on it, Ciri’s terror heightened when she realized she was trapped in the small space with the Old Witcher. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she flipped around once more to look at Vesemir.

“Let me out,” Ciri demanded, her voice shaking and betraying her fear. Her eyes looked over at Geralt, eyes pleading for him to help her.

“Geralt! What’s going on?” Yennefer was angry, as she quickly appeared up next to Geralt, who looked ready to kill Vesemir the moment he got his hands on him. Jaskier walked up, looking at Ciri with a very worried expression. He murmured something low to Geralt and Yennefer, but the blood pounding in Ciri’s ears kept her from hearing what was said.

Despite being in the same room as her companions, she felt suddenly very alone. She did not know what was going to happen, but she had the awful feeling that Geralt was going to be unable to help her in this situation. The breath in her lungs no longer seemed like enough, as the air came in fast, raspy gasps. Ciri’s chest suddenly felt tight, as if constricted by the very fear she was feeling. She startled when Vesemir spoke suddenly.

“I am going to unlock her magic, exactly as you asked me to do,” Vesemir stated, as if he hadn’t just sealed them in a circle. His wrinkled hands came up in front of him, making a a sign. The sound of Yennefer and Geralt went completely silent; the only sound being Ciri’s breathing and Vesemir’s cloak rustling as it moved. They could no longer hear anything outside the circle. “Now, we shall fight.”

“What?” Ciri inhaled sharply, just as Vesemir signed another symbol, his hands quickly moving through the motions. None of the Witcher signs had been taught to her, and she had no idea what to expect from the spell he had cast.

A visible shockwave ripped through the air, blasting towards her at incredible speed. Ciri moved to get out of the way, only to ram into the invisible wall that enclosed them. The force slammed into her from behind, slamming her body and head hard into the wall. It released as quickly as it had started, and she fell to her knees. Stars danced across her vision as she looked around, unable to register anything but Vesemir standing before her.

With shaky limbs, she began to stand up and face him, only for him to send another blast at her. This time her back slammed into the wall, and she was held suspended against the invisible barrier by her throat. Hands lifting, she clawed at her throat as she was deprived of air. The force tightened for a moment as darkness crept in slowly, before releasing her to slam into the ground. Deep coughs ripped from her throat as she tried to breathe in as much of the precious air that she could. Her lungs burned, aching for the oxygen they were deprived of.

“Damn it you weak child!” Vesemir shouted, startling her as her coughing fit subsided. “Fight me! Show me what power you truly have!” Another symbol came at her while she still kneeled on the ground, and this time she was burned by a blue fire that shot forth from his fingertips. The blaze scorched the skin on her arms and chest, leaving them blackened and bubbling. The blinding-hot pain registered immediately, and a scream ripped out of her throat, the shrill sound echoing in the training hall.

In her moment of pain, her eyes flitted around, noticing Jaskier and Yennefer covering their ears. This meant that they could still hear what was happening inside the circle. Geralt looked furious as he stood resisting the urge to cover his ears, sending different signs at the barrier, which stood strong despite his attempts to bring it down. Her scream ended quickly, and Vesemir removed his hands, a tremor rippling through him. “Yes,” he encouraged in an excited voice, a grin lighting up his face. “That is just a window into your power. More! Feel it! Use it!”

Vesemir circled her, like a beast stalking its prey before finally making the kill. She was forced into the center of the circle, just as another sign from him came at her. With what energy had left, she threw up a shield using her magic, which momentarily stopped the shockwave coming towards her. Ciri tried her best to keep the shield up, but she felt her energy waning quickly. The pain from her wounds distracted her and drew what little strength she had. Remembering Yen’s warning about the cost of magic, Ciri was forced to drop the shield. Instantly, the shockwave slammed into her, sending her flying onto the floor and skidding back into the invisible wall, where her head once again collided.

“Weak! You have more power than that, pathetic child,” Vesemir hissed. “Your grandmother died in vain if that is all you can do, and so did all of Cintra. Useless. Can’t even defend herself from the simplest of spells!”

Ciri pulled herself off the ground slowly. Her arms and chest burned from the scorch marks, and blood ran down the side of her face from where she’d cracked her head against the stone floor and barrier wall. She reached up with shaky fingers to brush hair out of her eyes, wincing when she hit a cut on her head. She couldn’t even look at the expression on Geralt’s face, scarred of seeing disappointment at how weak she was.

Vesemir’s words angered her. Her grandmother had not died in vain. Nor had her city. Her body began to vibrate with anger, and as Vesemir lifted his hands to do another sign, a foreign chant began to come from her lips. As quiet as a whisper, and beyond her control. Similar to the last time this happened, only now… she realized that she could still move her own body. Perhaps she had some sort of control. Yen’s training had helped, and as the chant continued to come, her mind automatically knowing the words, she shot out her hand. Wind kicked up inside the circle, sending Ciri’s hair tumbling across her face and out beside her. The strength of its blast made the Witcher take a step back to balance himself as he went to finish the sign.

A force, greater than any that the old Witcher had sent her way, blasted from her open palm, sending Vesemir flying into the shield, his eyes wide in surprised. Fear and anger pumped hard through her veins, and before the man could rise, she sent another blast. She stalked towards him slowly, the adrenaline blocking out the pain, and used her magic to lift him by the throat, just as he had done to her, up to look him in the eye. His amber eyes looked proud, if not a little scared. This was what he had wanted, Ciri realized.

In disgust, she threw him down and turned to the shield. Gathering energy from the enormous blazing magical core she had found deep within herself, she sent out a blast to the invisible wall. The blast came from all around her, shooting at every inch of the invisible barrier with a blinding white light. A loud explosion echoed off the stone walls of the room, and Ciri’s chanting came to a stop, as the barrier fell, shattering into inexistence.

Geralt and Yennefer looked at her in shock, while Jaskier grinned like a cat who found the cream. Recovering quickly from his surprise, Geralt’s eyes turned towards his old teacher, and he stalked towards him as the man was still on the ground. Geralt hauled him up by the front of his shirt, his face mere inches from the older Witchers’. “I should kill you where you stand,” Geralt hissed, spit hitting the Vesemir in the face. Any human would have fainted in fear from the look in Geralt’s eyes, but Vesemir merely grinned.

“She has unlocked her powers. She now knows the strength she possesses and can learn to control it,” Vesemir grunted out, his injuries paining him. “My words were untrue, merely things I knew would anger her enough to let her magic out. There is no better way to access one’s magic, then through strong emotions. Ciri is chaos.”

Yennefer inhaled sharply beside them but said nothing.

Angrily, Geralt shoved the man to the ground before turning back to Ciri, his eyes drifting over the blackened flesh on her arms and chest, and to the blood which dripped down her hair and face and into a small puddle on the floor beneath her feet. Her shirt had mostly been burned away, leaving her belly and shoulders exposed. The skin was all black, oozing clear liquid and blood.

Ciri looked at Geralt, and back at Yennefer before tears slipped down over her cheeks. The fear and adrenaline of the fight had finally worn off, and her mind collapsed from the mental exhaustion. Instantly Geralt’s arms were around her, supporting her as her knees buckled. Her limbs felt unbelievably heavy, as if they had turned to lead. His arm came around her knees and scooped her up gently before she could hit the ground. “Can you heal this Yennefer?” he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest. Ciri thought his voice sounded awfully far away, as darkness crept in around the edges of her vision.

“Yes,” was all she heard of Yennefer’s reply, before the darkness claimed her, taking her away from the pain.


	19. Healing

Chapter 19: Healing

“Put her here Geralt!” Yennefer snapped, waving her hand to a clean and ready bed in the medicine wing of the castle. The room was well stocked with potions and different ingredients, as well as bandages, tools, and everything else one could imagine in a healing room. A roaring fire burned in the corner of the room, casting an orange glow on their frantic expressions as they rushed into action.

Geralt lay Ciri down as carefully as possible on the bed, trying not to look at the ugly wounds which marred her pale skin. Her head was oozing blood out sluggishly, matting in her thick blonde hair. Blood coated his arms and shirt from having carried her. Her chest and arms looked utterly destroyed, the skin black and charred, the skin taught from the severe burns.

Yennefer immediately began opening the storage chests and cabinets, looking for different items that she crushed and mixed in a glass bottle. All her training was running through her head, as she recalled the quickest potions to make that would heal the young girl. Her magic poured into the contents of the bottle, causing it to smoke for a quick moment before cooling instantly; she didn’t have time to cook it all using the fire like one normally would. “Lift her head,” she ordered. Geralt obliged quickly, lifting Ciri’s head up tenderly as Yen poured the concoction down the girl’s throat.

Ciri instantly spluttered, coughing as the vile liquid slid down her throat, forcing her awake. Pain, searing hot pain like she had never experienced before, in her arms and chest was the first and only thing she was aware of, after the intrusion of being forced to drink whatever was just shoved down her throat. “Geralt,” Ciri moaned, her head turning to look blindly as the pain seemed to worsen. Her mind sought out for Geralt, her magic rippling weakly under her skin, spreading like tendrils out until they came in contact with the Witcher’s calming presence next to her.

Yennefer was using her magic to heal the skin, the potion only able to speed up the process with it’s healing properties. The skin was severely damaged, and the mage wished she had killed Vesemir when she had had the chance. Ciri should never have been wounded in such a way; there were other ways beside torture to awake one’s magic. The extent of the injuries sapped at Yennefer’s strength, the need to be healed obvious in the way her energy was being pulled out of her. 

“Geralt, it hurts,” Ciri whimpered, her eyes wide open but unseeing. Her hands automatically lifted to the blackened flesh on her chest, moving to claw at the skin, which was beginning to flake off from Yen’s magic as the skin was being repaired from the inside-out. Geralt felt his heart clench at her quiet pleas, and he grabbed her hands to keep her from hurting herself. She was no match for his strength, though she still struggled at his grasp.

Looking up, Geralt could see that Yen was getting tired, and he put Ciri’s two hands in one of his, before holding out his other to Yennefer. “Take my strength, you can’t do this alone,” he murmured, his eyes looking into her beautiful purple ones with obvious fear.

Yennefer nodded; there was no time for pride in this matter, and took his hand to draw strength from him, as she finished knitting together the burned flesh. She was replacing the charred dark skin with new, healthy pale skin, and weaving new muscle tissue. The head wound was easier to fix, and within mere minutes the wound was shut with not a mark to be found.

Yennefer was certain that Cir would bear no scars from today, thanks to Geralt’s extra energy, as she used his strength to ensure there would be no marks left behind. This would be an unpleasant memory for all of them, and Yen did not want Ciri to carry around a permanent reminder on her body.

Ciri’s whimpers quieted completely as the skin healed, and sleep took her again. Geralt was grateful that the worst was over with and that the young girl was no longer in any pain. Yen released his hand, and she leaned back against the wall panting hard, sweat dripping off her face. For the first time, he noticed that Jaskier was watching from the doorway with a worried expression. “I’ll clean her up,” Yennefer said after her breath returned. “You guys go deal with Vesemir.”

Geralt’s eyes darkened as he thought of his old teacher whom he very much wished to kill, but he nodded. With one last look at Ciri’s now peaceful face, he left the room with Jaskier at his heels, to go deal with the man that caused this.

Yennefer called one of the servants to bring a bucket of water and cloth, and she slowly set to work washing all of the blood and old black flesh off Ciri. She had to remove the girls destroyed shirt, and quickly cleaned up her torso before working at the blood matted into her hair. The process was long and arduous, but she took the time to ensure that the girl was completely free of the grime and body fluids.

By the time she had finished, Yennefer felt like she was going to pass out from the exhaustion. She pulled a spare shirt onto Ciri, just before the boys re-entered the room. “Did you kill him?” Yennefer asked curiously, looking at Geralt, who was now cleaned of Ciri’s blood and dressed in a different shirt.

“No,” Geralt growled, sounding very disappointed and angry. “But I told him if he ever pulls a stunt like that again with her, that I would ensure he dies the slowest and most painful demise I can imagine.”

“So, you’re going to tie him up and let the bard sing to him until he dies of starvation?” Yen asked, a grin lifting at her lips. The mood was dark and heavy, and she wished to lift it and ease their minds that the worst was hopefully behind them.

“Why do you all seem to hate my singing?” Jaskier gasped, looking between the two with a hurt expression. “Most people love the sound of my voice, and yet you guys act as if I have the voice of an old dairy cow.”

“Jaskier, don’t insult the cows. They have more rhythm then you,” Geralt stated bluntly, looking at the bard with humour in his eyes.

Jaskier spluttered and looked shocked, his hand flying to his chest in hurt. “Oh, oh, oh, somebody forgets that my song made him famous! It’s thanks to me that you even get paid for jobs, instead of getting spit on and kicked out of taverns and towns.”

Geralt hid back a grin at the defensiveness in the bard’s tone, while Yennefer chuckled quietly.

“I think you have a lovely singing voice,” came a hoarse voice from the bed. Their eyes all darted to Ciri, who was sitting up and looking at them with bleary eyes. Her hair tumbled around her in waves, still damp from having been washed out by the mage. 

“See? Her opinion matters more than either of yours’ anyways,” Jaskier quipped gently. “She is a Princess after all.”

“How are you feeling, Cirilla?” Geralt asked, ignoring Jaskier, as he moved his hand to touch her shoulder gently. Her blue eyes turned up to look at him, and he felt his heart stutter for a moment in its slow rhythm before continuing its normal pace. How weird, he thought.

“Alright,” she replied, a small smile lifting at the corners of her lips. Her brows suddenly furrowed as she thought of something. “Is Vesemir alright?”

Geralt’s expression instantly soured, and he removed his hand from her shoulder in order to stand up straight. “Unfortunately, the man will live. Though whether he deserves too, is still to be decided.”

“You didn’t know he was planning to do that?” Ciri asked curiously.

Geralt shook his head. “No. I would have never allowed it, had I known he was going to force your magic out so quickly and in such an aggressive way.”

“Why did he do that so aggressively?” Jaskier chimed in, coming to stand next to Geralt.

Geralt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as his shoulders dropped. “He wants Ciri to become a Witcher, and believed that once her magic was released, she would be able to start the process. He thought he could convince me to allow it, but I will never condone it. The trials could kill her, and with her magic alone, she could learn to hold her own against any opponent.”

Jaskier looked at Ciri before back at the Witcher. “Will we stay here then?”

“Yes, we will remain here. Vesemir will not try anything more with her, as he knows both Yen and I will kill him if he so much as thinks about it,” Geralt growled.

Ciri glanced down at her hands, wondering what her training would bring now that she was aware of the powers she possessed. She did not want to become a Witcher, and she was grateful that Geralt was not going to allow it to happen. Yet, she still couldn’t help but worry about what her time here would bring. Things would no doubt be tense between the Old Witcher and their group, and yet they planned on remaining here for the months to come.


	20. Emotions are a Burden

Chapter 20: Emotions are a Burden

Four months had passed by at Kaer Morhen. The winter had come, cold and brutal and dark, leading to layers of furs and thick cloaks to keep the chill out. Warm fires were lit all day and night, bringing some heat to the cold stone walls and floors. The servants worked hard to provide warm meals for the residents during the cold time and kept all the fires stoked.

Ciri’s training continued throughout these four cold months. Her mornings would be spent with Yennefer, learning to harness her powers and to perform different tasks. The magical core within her was strong, and she left her lessons feeling no where near as drained as she had previously. She learned to make different potions, learned about different ingredients and plant life and what each of them would bring to the potion. Portals were easy enough for her to cast now, and she could draw water out of living plants. She could move things across the room with just the will of her mind. It was an amazing feeling, and Yennefer was an amazing teacher.

After lunch, Ciri and Jaskier would move to the training room with Vesemir and Geralt (she was never to be left alone with Vesemir) and work on combat. She learned hand-to-hand fighting, which she was utterly awful at performing. Her sword fighting had come along well, and she could fend off Geralt or Vesemir for a few minutes at a time, if they weren’t using their total strength. At 14 years of age, she was still too small to handle any amount of force behind the sword.

Jaskier could hold his own against either of the Witchers for an impressive amount of time. His lithe frame seemed to dance around his opponent in combat, and Ciri would’ve believed anyone if they told her he was part elf. She could see Geralt’s pride in the bard, and it made her happy that their friendship was growing stronger after all the rocky places it had been.

Ciri’s favorite weapon was a bow. Off at a distance, she had incredible aim, and would no doubt be a lethal opponent if the opportunity struck for her to attack by arrows. With a little magic, she could even light the arrows on fire before firing, and they would cause a blast when they struck.

During the evenings, Ciri would read different books that Vesemir had lying around, all about spells, different races, history of their world, and all sort of fascinating things. She would also sit around the large fire singing and dancing with Jaskier, helping him come up with new songs to wow the crowds with at Inns once they started travelling again. He tried to teach her to play the lute, but she had no patience for it. Her instrument that she had learned growing up was the flute, and she wished she had hers. It was probably destroyed in the raid or in the possession of the Nilfgaard.

All the training and good food and happiness allowed Ciri to grow. Physically she had gotten a little taller, and her body was starting to change, with womanly curves starting at her breasts and hips, and lean muscle ran up along her limbs. She was happy with the way the training was making her look, but she was also happy with the way it made her feel. Her mind was kept busy, and it was easy enough to avoid thinking about the cruel fate that befell Cintra and her grandmother. It still haunted her dreams sometimes, but she was able to focus on other things which helped.

Her relationship with her companions had only blossomed, and she would say that Yennefer was becoming a motherly figure, whom she went to for advice often. Jaskier had become a good friend, always around to cheer her up when things got difficult. Her relationship with Geralt… it was weird. She felt such a powerful draw to him, but it was unknown to her as why. Sometimes she caught him watching her with a weird expression, before he would suddenly look away angrily. Yet, they still grew closer and she was so grateful to have him in her life. She knew he was still frequenting Yennefer’s chambers, but she tried to ignore that fact, for whatever reason it bothered her.

Her life was happy, and that’s why it was almost hard when she was pulled aside by Yennefer with news of change. It was late evening, and Ciri was about to head to bed, when Yen stopped her. They were alone, so Ciri turned, curious as to why the mage looked so serious.

“We are going to be returning to my home tomorrow,” Yennefer started, looking at Ciri warily.

Ciri was saddened by this, but knew they would all still be together, and she would be with her horse Aspen once again. It seemed like such a long time since she had seen her. “Alright. I will begin to pack up my stuff,” she replied. Yen bit her lip and her brows furrowed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Yen sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, acting very much like Geralt in that moment. “Jaskier and Geralt will not be coming with us,” was all she said.

Ciri’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise. “What? They are staying here? Why would they not come with us?”

“Geralt needs to keep hunting monsters. He has an important job in the world, and he feels like it is time to be on the move once again,” Yennefer looked at her solemnly.

“Why can’t I go with him? I can handle myself now!”

Yen shook her head, standing up straight and moving away from the wall. “No. You must stay with me, safe from the Nilfgaard at my castle. They know you are still alive and the hunt for you continues. Geralt doesn’t want you in danger by tagging along with him. You will attract unwanted attention to him if you are with him.”

“He doesn’t want me?” Ciri felt tears sting her eyes. Geralt was abandoning her already, after she only just found him.

“Don’t act like a child, Cirilla,” Yennefer scolded, moving closer to her, purple eyes blazing. “He has a job to do, and you will not be going.”

The sound of footsteps came up behind them, and Ciri whirled around to see Geralt standing their, looking at them passively. “You’re leaving me,” she accused harshly, cursing the tears that began to spill. She was hurt, and she was angry.

Geralt said nothing, merely looking at her. His expression almost looked pained for a moment, before it returned to the stony mask.

At the lack of emotion or response, Ciri’s anger grew. Her magic was acting up, snapping in tendrils at her sudden mood change. She knew the two adults could sense it when they both tensed up. “I hate you,” she whispered, wishing she could’ve screamed at the two of them.

Turning on her heel with as much dignity as she could muster, she stalked off to her room, slamming the door behind her hard.

The tears poured out of her, blurring her vision and causing her nose to run as she grabbed her packs and began flinging all of her belongings into them. How dare Geralt leave her alone? He bound her to him and abandoned her for the first twelve years of her life, and here he is, leaving her again. No good would come from them being separated, and she knew it.

Anger and anguish burned at her, and with a loud scream she sent a blast of power at the wall. Her magic cracked the stone, causing an explosion of dust and broken off rocks to fall to the ground. The magical core within her burned, fired up like it needed to explode. She knew what this was, with magic being tied to emotions, Yen had warned her that she needed to always keep a clear head.

But right now, that was impossible. Her magic was boiling beneath her skin, reacting to her emotions, amplified by her youth. Moving to the door, she threw it open blindly as she stumbled into the hall. She needed to get out of the castle before the magic slipped through her grip and levelled the whole fortress.

Geralt and Yennefer were standing by the door, and both took steps back when she emerged. “Cirilla, you need to calm down,” Yennefer warned, her hand lifted towards the girl.

Ciri recoiled, her magic snapping once again beneath her skin. “I can’t,” she ground out between clenched teeth. Moving through the hall, she could hear the two following behind her, talking quietly between themselves as Ciri fled to get outside.

Once she was outside in the snow, the vast mountain and valleys lying before her, she allowed her grip on her powers to release. A scream came out of her, shrill and horrific, sending a blast that levelled the trees and ground before her. She could hear Geralt and Yennefer react in pain at the sound behind her, but she could not stop. The magic had to be released.

With her grip on it gone, she felt the magic reacting, like a pot about to boil over, it finally exploded. Fire and ice, one element out of each palm, shot out of her like arrows released from a bow. The blast ripped the trees from the ground, charring them and freezing others. The scream had stopped, but the magic continued, pouring out of her core relentlessly.

The ferocity of her emotions burned within her, fueling the fire and the ice which came. The snow on the ground was gone, the earth charred from the flames, while the ash froze on its way down to the ground. It was like a fire and ice tornado, burning and freezing everything around her.

It felt like an eternity but was probably only mere minutes before she could finally feel the magic lessen and she was able to sever the output. At the sudden halt to the magic, Ciri’s eyes had shut before she hit the ground.


	21. Taken

Chapter 21: Taken

“Cirilla, it’s time to wake up,” Yennefer’s soft voice said from somewhere beside her. Peeling open her heavy eyelids, Ciri looked around and was shocked to see that she was back in her large room at Yennefer’s castle. The room looked entirely the same, not a thing out of place after their four months away. The mage was standing over her, dressed in a simple blue skirt and shirt, her hair hanging in long waves down her back. “Finally, you’ve been asleep for three days.”

Ciri sat up in shock. “What? Where’s Geralt and Jaskier? How did we get here?”

“I portalled us here shortly after your explosion,” Yennefer explained, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, and looking at her with sad eyes. “Geralt and Jaskier came to take their horses but have moved on in their travels. They have promised to stop by to visit when the time allows it.”

Sadness draped over Ciri like a cloak. So, it wasn’t a dream that Geralt had abandoned her; it was reality. She looked at Yen with sorrow clear in her pale blue eyes. “Why do I get the feeling he is not planning on returning?”

“Geralt makes all the wrong choices in his life,” Yen sighed, her hand moving to push her hair over her shoulder. “He always has and will probably continue to do so. He will return, but I cannot tell you how long that will be. Sometimes years pass between our meetings; time holds no meaning for him.”

“Yet I will age… I could be an old maid by the time he returns.”

“No, actually,” Yennefer turned to look at her with a more uplifted expression. “Your powers will no doubt have extended your life to that of a mage. You will age normally up until your late teens and early twenties… then you will slow. Decades will pass, and you shall change very little. It is both a blessing and a curse.”

“Really?” Ciri gapped, looking at the mage in shock. How weird it would be to suddenly stop aging, and to grow old so slowly. Another thought occurred to her. “Mages can’t have children. Does that mean I…?” she trailed off, not sure if she would be ok with not having children in her lifetime.

Yennefer flinched back, and Ciri knew this was a tender subject for her. While the mage had Bran now, it probably still hung on Yen’s mind that she would never bear kids of her own. Nothing to pass on to anyone. “I do not know. You bleed, unlike mages, so that alone would suggest that you could have children someday. But there is no way to guarantee that.”

Ciri nodded, not too broken up on that subject right now. As of this age, she certainly had no desire for kids; she was still one herself. The idea of not seeing Geralt for years though… it dragged the sadness back down on her hard. She went to ask Yennefer another question, when a loud explosion blasted from outside.

Yennefer flew to her feet in shock. “What the hell?” she exclaimed, running out the door with Ciri on her heels. Bran was being watched by a servant in Yen’s room, so after a quick check to ensure they were alright, they booked it to the front hall, where the front wall of the castle was smashed to the ground, where rubble smoked and flames licked at the banners that hung on the other walls.

A line of men in clad in black armour stood atop the fallen stones, swords drawn and ready to attack, as a mage, Fringilla Vigo, and army commander Cahir Mawr Dyffryn, stood at the front. Ciri’s heart froze in terror at the Black Knight and the wicked grin he sent in her direction.

Yennefer lunged into action, her servants coming out of the halls dressed in armor to defend the castle, as she casted a spell at Fringilla. The dark mage easily cast the oncoming spell aside and grinned wickedly at Yennefer. “We are here for Princess Cirilla of Cintra. If she comes, we will leave, and you will be left alone.”

“Like fucking hell!” Yennefer shouted at her. “Attack!” she shouted at her servants, whom all immediately swept forward to attack the Nilfgaard troops. The sound of metal clashing rung through the air, the whirls of swings and stabs echoing in the open hall. Ciri watched in horror as blood was spilled, people falling to horrific wounds as they slashed each other open.

Yennefer turned to Ciri. “Run! Portal out of here, now!” she screamed at her.

Ciri was frozen in shock for a moment, and frozen for a second too long when an arrow stuck into her shoulder, knocking her off her feet and onto the stone ground. A loud scream tore out of Yennefer’s lungs as she whirled around to face the attacker. Blood pounded in Ciri’s ears as she looked down at the arrow sticking out of her shoulder, blood pooling around the shaft and staining her dress.

The pain hadn’t registered; everything was happening far too fast for her mind to keep up with. Not long ago she had been asleep, unaware of this terrible onslaught about to ensue. Her eyes dragged away from the arrow lodged into her, and looked at Yennefer, who was locked in combat with Fringilla. A dark figure was walking up towards her, a huge, obnoxious, black feather sitting in the middle of his helmet. Cahir was grinning at her.

Her vision was blurring, and she vaguely thought that she had fainted way too much as of late. She struggled to stay awake, wanting to fire whatever magic was in her to blast that evil piece of filth from the world, but the pull was too strong. Her mind drifted to Geralt in these last moments, certain that Cahir was going to draw his sword and kill her where she lay, sprawled across the ground with the dignity of a street urchin.

The sounds of men dying and swords clanging faded off into the background. Her breathing seemed awfully loud to her own ears, as she allowed her head to fall back onto the floor. Cahir was now out of her line of sight, as narrowed as that was, but she knew he was still stalking towards here, most likely ready to make the final blow. Perhaps she would be unconscious before he could make the strike. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Perhaps if she died, she would be reborn. She had always heard stories of such hope, that maybe there was no afterlife, but rather just an endless circle of lives. If she could be reborn, she hoped it could be as someone who could be in this Geralt’s life. The man was damaged and lost and needed all the people in his life that he could get. Ciri wondered what her death would mean to him. Perhaps nothing at all. If Yennefer died today, he would surely be more upset about that, then the death of the child bound to him.

She pictured his face in her mind. The light tone to his hair, the way it framed his face. The golden eyes, which burned with emotion when he thought no one was watching, hooded by a strong brow. His nose, which was completely proportional for his face, unlike his teacher Vesemirs’, and his lips which sat so perfectly on his face… Ciri wished she could see him one last time. Perhaps finally understand why she felt so drawn to the man.

As the darkness finally sucked her into its cold grasp, her mind went completely blank as she was taken away. The noise around her was completely gone, and she was oblivious to the dark knight as he scooped her up, and had a portal cast for him to escape with her.


	22. To Find Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this is a weak chapter. Had a lot of distractions while trying to write it, but the next update should be within the next day or so and I will do my best to make up for it. Your comments so far have made me so happy. I'm glad you are all enjoying this fic. :)

Chapter 22: To Find Her

“When will she wake?” a male voice asked, his voice angry. Ciri couldn’t open her eyes, but she could hear footsteps on the other side of her, opposite of the man. She tried to peel open her eyes, worried about what was happening, but was unable to. They were still so heavy. 

The footsteps stopped. “Her wound is healed, so she should wake at any moment,” a female answered, her voice low and proud. The voices seemed familiar to Ciri, and she tried to remember where she had heard them before. She couldn’t remember much. They were in Kaer Morhen, but where was she now? What wound did she have? 

Her fingers twitched when she tried to move, but that was a bad idea. “Look, she’s moving. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear us now,” the female stated, footsteps moving closer to her. 

The man shifted. “Princess Cirilla of Cintra, the fallen city,” the voice murmured, sounding like their was a grin behind the words. Ciri’s stomach twisted at the sound of his voice. She recognized it, and not in a good way. “Welcome to the Nilfgaardian Empire.”

The voice… it made sense. It belonged to Cahir, that malevolent Nilfgaard soldier. The magical outburst. Geralt deciding to leave. Waking up at the castle. The army storming the fortress. Getting shot by the arrow. Yennefer attacking Fringilla. Cahir approaching… It all rushed back to her and her eyes flew open. 

Sitting up in a flash, she looked straight at Cahir, her eyes glaring at him coldly. “Where’s Yennefer?” Ciri asked, her jaw tight. 

A smile, only to be described as wicked, appeared on the dark knight’s face. “We left her alive,” was all he said. He moved closer to her, and Ciri felt like she was the prey and he was the hunter. Her body stiffened as she reached for her magic, only to find nothing there. Confusion must have shown on her face, because he spoke again, the smile still in place. “You cannot use any powers in here. This room has been designed to contain you and all your powers. Consider this your new home.”

He waved his arms around dramatically, indicating to the small room. There was a bed, a fire place, a barred window, and a small wardrobe. “Why have you taken me as prisoner? Surely you just need to kill me to ensure the thrown of Cintra goes to your king,” Ciri said, trying not to panic at being utterly defenseless. Her eyes scanned around the room, looking for anything that could be used for a weapon, but there was nothing. 

Cahir leaned against the bed frame, looking down at her with a glint in his eyes. “Our king has deemed it a better option to keep you alive. You are to be his queen and the mother of his sons.” 

Ciri’s stomach dropped, as she looked up at the man in shock. How revolting… she was being kept alive to be wed and impregnated. The taste of acid rose in the back if her throat, and she had to swallow to keep the bile down. “I would rather die,” she spat. 

“You will not be allowed to die,” Fringilla said from beside her. “You will be kept alive until the day you wed, on your 18th birthday. The King deems it inappropriate to wed a child, so when you have finished your growth, you will marry the King and you will not get any say in the matter. You and the King will rule Cintra and the Nilfgaardian Empire. You should feel honored and blessed.”

“You’re going to keep me locked in here, for four more years?” she rasped, looking around at the room. She would find a way to escape, if that was the case, or end her own life if there was no way out. Her stomach flipped in another wave of nausea. She would not marry an old king and be used for a baby-producer. 

“That’s the plan for right now,” the dark knight stated. He moved toward the door, Fringilla following him. “Enjoy your stay Princess.” 

The door slammed behind them as they left, and Ciri could hear the door being bolted; she was locked in. The emotions caught up to her. No magic, no weapon and she was all alone. Her tears came quickly and she broke down into sobs, her sorrows and fear taking over.

./././././

Geralt and Jaskier were sitting in an inn, drinking ale after Dandelion’s last performance. It had been three weeks since they had departed Kaer Morhen, and they had already taken a few jobs disposing of various monsters. Their latest kill had gotten them a necrophage, and an award of enough coin to spend a couple nights at an inn with warm beds and bellies full of mead. 

Their peace was quickly destroyed, when the front doors of the inn slammed open, and a loud, female voice screamed out: “Geralt! Gods damn you Geralt, I finally found you.”

The Witcher’s head whipped around at the same time as Jaskiers’. Yennefer was storming toward them, her hair wild and unkept, her dress dirty, and her face angry. They immediately got to their feet. “What is it Yen? What’s wrong? Where’s Ciri?” Geralt questioned, his arm grabbing Yen’s arm to steady her as she came to a quick halt in front of them. Obviously something was really wrong, if she had sought them out and looked so panicked.

“Nilfgaard,” Yennefer growled. “They stormed the castle right after we got back. It’s taken me three whole fucking weeks to find you Geralt. They’ve had Ciri this whole time.” 

Geralt’s face darkened as he cussed, and Jaskier grew worried. “They kept her alive?” Jaskier asked quietly, almost scared to know the answer. 

Yen turned to look at him, her purple eyes pained. “She was felled by an arrow. I do not know if she lives, but I do not see why they would’ve taken her if they wanted her dead.”

“She’s alive,” Geralt stated. He would feel it if the girl had died, he thought. He had to believe that she still breathed. His mind raced around, trying to figure out the likely places they might have her being held. He never should have left her alone. He had spent the last three weeks worried about her and his fears had been correct. The Princess was only safe when she was at his side. How many times would destiny have to shove that fact in his face?

Growling, he stalked out of the inn, Jaskier and Yennefer at his heels. “Where are you going Geralt?” Yennefer asked. “We have no idea where she is being held. We are also ill-prepared to take on the Nilfgaardian army. We will need back-up.”

“We cannot leave her with them!” Geralt whirled on her, his expression angry. “They could be torturing her, raping her! She could be dead already.” His breathing was coming out in harsh, ragged gasps. His heart hurt and his mind was fuzzy from the emotion. Never before had he felt such a feeling, and he did not like it. 

“We have to get help first,” Yennefer reasoned. “If we march in blind, we could end up dead and then no one will be able to help her.”

“Well, then what do you suggest we do?” Geralt snarled, moving to untie Roach from where she stood.

“Let us return to my fortress, and we will make up a proper plan. We have allies and those who owe us favors. We will get her Geralt. But we need to do this the smart way, or we could lose everything.” 

“We should do as she says, Geralt,” Jaskier stated, surprising the pair, as he rarely agreed with anything the mage ever said. “Ciri’s safety is the most important thing. We can’t risk failing in our rescue.” 

A long moment passed as Geralt starred at the two of them. “Very well,” he finally said through gritted teeth. He swung up onto Roach, while Jaskier grabbed Beast. 

Yennefer nodded, turning and opening a portal, ignoring the onlookers who watched in awe at the display of magic. They all passed through the portal, heading to Yennefer’s fortress, the three set on their new mission of rescuing the Princess of Cintra.


	23. The Black Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning*** Slight mention of attempted suicide, and mention of potential rape - doesn't actually happen though. Just putting it out there in case there's any sensitivities to these subjects. This warning stands for the rest of the fic, as I don't know if these topics will come up again. Thanks for understanding. They are not explicit though, just slight mentions.
> 
> On another note, I hope you guys like this chapter. I am really happy with the way this one turned out.

Chapter 23: The Black Wedding

It had been four years – four drastically long years of waiting alone in a room, with little entertainment other than the occasional book or conversations with the maids. Cahir and Fringilla stopped by every couple weeks to taunt her and torment her about having been abandoned by Geralt. At first she’d tried to deny it, but after spending four years in their possession, she realized that it was the truth.

There was no way he hadn’t gotten word about her capture, and obviously he had decided that he was better off without her. This haunted her daily, and each and every day it felt like her soul was ripped out of her and shredded. The pain never stopped, the loneliness haunted her like a poltergeist. More than a handful of times, she had tried to end her own life. 

Slitting her wrists, hanging with tied bedclothes, or starving herself. Each and every time she was brought back from the brink of death by Fringilla, who seemed to be aware of every action that went on in her cell. It was an endless nightmare, and as much as she had grown in the last four years, she felt like a shell of her old self. 

It had been months since she had spoken, as she refused to speak with Cahir or Fringilla, no matter what was said to her or what Cahir did to her. He liked to torment her; shoving her, knocking her over, slapping her when she refused to speak… She was so used to it. She hardly even blinked anymore when he laid a hand on her. Her life passed by so slowly, as she dreaded what was to come. 

It was officially the morning of her 18th birthday, and she was already awake when Cahir slammed her door open, a large grin spread across his face. “Come, come! We haven’t got time to waste,” he all but shouted at her. “You’re wedding is in a mere two hours.” 

His large hand wrapped around her skinny arm, hauling her to her feet. Over the last four years, the lack of movement made her muscles weak, and he all but had to drag her out of the tiny room and down the hall to another room. There was a large tub filled with steaming water, and a few maids stood by waiting for her. Cahir thrust her towards them, where she fell at their feet on her hands and knees, panting from the exertion. 

“Get her cleaned up, the wench hasn’t had a bath in all the years she has been here,” Cahir snapped at the maids. “Once she is dressed, send for me and I will bring her to the procession.” 

He disappeared out the doorway, as the maids helped her get up and undressed. They spoke no words to her, as they got her into the tub, where they began to help her wash up, and spent an unbelievable amount of time on her hair. Her hair was past her waist now, and was so matted and tangled, it took the three of them to work all the knots out and get it washed up. 

She was so mentally numb, that she hardly even cared as she was washed by complete strangers. Her hair was plucked and primped, made to look like a proper Princess, which she hardly felt like anymore. Every bit of her identity had been stripped away from her. She had no freedoms. Not even the freedom to escape. 

Once cleaned, they dried her off, and she was barely even aware as she was put into a white wedding gown, and her hair styled to frame her face. The idea of marrying the King was an abhorrent one, and she hoped that there would be some means of escape, be it physical or existential. Her body would not be used against her will, no matter what she had to do to prevent it. 

Geralt crossed her mind again, as she drifted away from what was happening to block out the painful emotions. Her mind often slipped away to other things to protect her sanity from whatever was occurring. She wondered how Geralt was doing, what monsters he had slain in the last four years, if Jaskier was still with him, and if he was still with Yen… She also wondered what little Bran was like now, four years old – surely he could talk and walk around on his own. He was probably still just as cute. 

It was getting hard to remember their faces. She tried to cling on to bits of information that she knew about them, or parts of their features. Like Geralt’s amber eyes, or Yennefer’s striking black hair, or Jaskier’s special lute. These things kept her sane, even though she knew she had been abandoned by these very people. She also wondered about Aspen. If Geralt had kept her or sold her off to make some coin. She hoped the mare was doing well, and getting spoiled with brushings and treats often. 

She was brought back to reality when the door flew open and slammed against the wall hard. Cahir often opened doorways like that, and it seemed so obnoxious and dramatic to her. He grinned wickedly as his eyes raked over her in a disgusting way. The dress was low-cut, showing off her some-what impressive cleavage, and hugging the curves of her skinny body. A small crown sat on her light-blonde waves, encrusted with blue jewels that brought out the color of her eyes. 

“The King is a lucky man,” Cahir drawled, looking at her with a disgusting look in his eyes. She did not shy under the look, as it is one she had received from him countless times. He truly was a revolting man. “Let us go, Princess, the King awaits his new bride.” 

He looped his arm through hers, pulling her tight against her side and dragged her out of the room. They made their way down the long hallway, turning a few times and it was then that Ciri realized just how big the Nilfgaard fort really was. The halls were like a labyrinth from the old stories, and she wouldn’t be able to find her way back if she’d tried. 

It felt like an eternity that they wandered through the halls, passing not one person on their long journey. Cahir muttered on about how the King was going to rape her tonight, and impregnate her with sons, and once they were born, she would be slaughtered for her lineage. Of course, the idea of this terrified her, but after hearing about it so many times, she grew numb to it. She would find someway out. She had to. 

They finally came into a long open atrium, lit brightly by torchlight and sunlight that came through the stained glass windows. Rows and rows of benches lined the stone floor, filled by knights and ladies, and different noble folk, whom all turned to stare as they approached. A large cross hung up on the podium at the front of the room, where a priest stood next to a tall man, dressed in fine black robes, with a golden crown sitting on his head. 

Cahir had to almost drag her down between the rows of benches, as she felt her eyes grow wide as they approached the king. Her breathing was ragged, as she realized that this was really happening. Her control of her emotions was slipping, and while she still couldn’t use or access her magic, she was very much trying not to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of the Nilfgaard crowd. 

“Hold it together,” Cahir snapped at her. “Or you will be whipped for your stupidity and for embarrassing his royal highness.” 

Drawing in another ragged breath, she continued to move her feet, as exhausted as her muscles were, up the steps towards the man who stood waiting for her. His face was worn, appearing to be in his early forties. Grey hair peaked under the crown, but there was something familiar to his brown eyes. She felt like she had seen him somewhere before… 

Cahir pulled her hard up the next step, causing her to trip slightly on the long dress. As she went to regain her footing, a few things happened at once. A loud, deafening explosion ripped through the back wall, sending flame and rocks into the crowd of onlookers. Screams filled the atrium, echoing off of the stone. At the same time, an arrow shot through Cahir’s head, exiting through his face as he fell to the ground, taking Ciri with him. 

The man collapsed on top of her, his blood soaking through the back of her dress as she hit the stone stairs. Her ears were ringing from the blast, and she tilted her head upwards to look around. Cahir was dead, and unbelievably heavy on her back. With a tremendous amount of effort, she managed to shove him off and slid out from underneath him. 

The King was no where to be seen, but the Priest was casting some sort of spells at the direction the explosion came from. Knights of Nilfgaard were pouring in from the hallways, only to get blasted back by some sort of vicious magic that caused them to all-but explode. Turning her head backwards, Ciri saw an army, with mages lining the front, taking on the stunned Nilgaardian army. Caught unawares, the Nilfgaards were falling rapidly, being cut down by swords and blasted to smithereens by the mages. 

Dragging herself to her feet, Ciri swayed a bit as her sore and tender muscles carried her up the rest of the stairs, away from the commotion. She did not know who the attackers were, and they might kill her just as quickly as they had the Nilfgaards. The chaos was loud, and with her ringing ears, it was hard to focus on what was happening. 

Blood and body parts littered the stone ground, and she was splattered with blood of different people as body’s exploded around her and past her. Reaching down, she pulled a small sword of a young woman’s torso, her legs no where to be seen, as she backed up against the wall. As Geralt had taught her, get something solid behind you, that way your enemy can only attack from the front. There is no risk of surprises. 

Her eyes searched the battle field, but through all the dust and gore, it was so hard to make out what was happening. She couldn’t see who any of the offenders were, nor could she even tell what race they were. 

A large roar came from overhead, and Ciri felt her knees buckle in fear as the roof was ripped away, some collapsing into the middle of the room and crushing more lives. A golden dragon appeared in the opening, his toothed maw opening and spreading fire throughout the room. The blaze scorched the benches and people who tried to flee. The heat charring them and leaving nothing but ashes behind.   
Ciri recoiled from the heat, trying to move back further into the castle, but it was hard with the amount of bodies now covering the ground and blocking her path. The body’s and body-parts lit on fire from the dragon’s inferno, severing her from escaping through one of the hallways. 

She turned to move the other way, slowly stepping over limbs and torsos as she headed in the direction of the servants entrance. The lack of strength in her legs was agony, her muscles burning in protest at having been used more in the last hour than in the last four years. By the time she got to the doorway, she could move no more, and collapsed to the ground, breaths coming out in fast, raspy gasps. Her sword was the only thing that kept her remotely upright, as she had stabbed it between the stones and rested against it, her head pressed into the hilt. 

The battle wore on around her, and she vaguely wondered if she was going to die here. She had no idea what was happening, and the idea bothered her that she could be killed in a random raid. Yet, it also brought her peace, knowing that if she died today, she would never have to marry the King or be forced into producing heirs. Yes, she could live with herself if she died here today. 

The roar of the battle continued, though it started to slow. The dragon had moved on to other parts of the fortress, burning whatever it could. Thick black smoke filled the air and burned her lungs, reminding her of that fateful day in Lara’s home, all those years ago. The Nilfgaards’ army was slowly dissipating, being slaughtered at a rapid rate. 

The screams came from everywhere, but Ciri’s ears caught on to a common word that was being shouted in fear: “Witcher.” 

Her heart thrummed in her chest, suddenly alive and warm once again. Her head turned from where it still leaned on the hilt of the sword she had picked up, and looked over at where the battle raged on. A familiar silver sword, glinting in the firelight that burned around them, slashed and cut with precision and serious skill, slaughtering all those that approached. White hair flared out behind the attacker, a strong jaw tense with focus. The amber eyes scoured around, suddenly locking on hers with recognition. 

Ciri let the sword fall to the ground, as her hands fell to her sides, where she kneeled on the ground. Geralt of Rivia was fighting his way towards her, his expression almost murderous as Nilfgaards interfered. Yet, with quick flicks of his sword, he disposed of the opposers, and in a matter of mere seconds, stood before Ciri. “Geralt…” her voice rasped out, hoarse from having not been used in so many months. Almost no sound had come out at all, but his sensitive ears still managed to pick up the words. His hand reached down towards her. 

Starring at the large, familiar hand, stained with the blood of his enemies, Ciri felt her eyes widen. Her heart pounded in her chest. Geralt had come. He was here. He was going to save her. Looking back up at his golden eyes, she slid her slender hand into his, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They starred at each other for a long moment, and Geralt brought his hand up to stroke the hair out of her face. 

“Cirilla,” he said, his familiar voice rumbling from his chest. Her heart pulsed hard in response to her name. He opened his mouth to say something more, when his face suddenly turned pale. Agony crossed his features, and his knees buckled. Ciri looked down in shock, as the tip of a silver sword stuck out from his chest. Her eyes dragged up, and saw the King standing behind Geralt, his sword having impaled the Witcher. 

And just like that, Ciri’s mind went black, as her powers took over.


	24. The King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a disappointing chapter. I was unsure of how to write in this part - spoilers for the books. I tried to keep it really quick, as I did not want to go into much detail. Sorry if it is lacking, but I believe the next few chapters will be much better. Thank you!

Chapter 24: The King

Yennefer fought hard through the waves of the Nilfgaards that poured through the halls. Her magic, chaotic and powered by her rage, blasted out of her in a wild inferno. The opposition was scorched before her, burning to ash beneath the blaze from her palms. Her eyes searched through the bodies, hoping to land on either Geralt or Jaskier, wondering if either had found Cirilla yet. 

So much time had passed; four years of planning and following dead ends. The Nilfgaards had hid their Princess well, but finally they had found her. They had planned the siege on the chosen “wedding day”, knowing that the army would be caught unawares by their attack. Yet, they were still a powerful foe. Many of her recruits fell under the Nilfgaard’s blades. It was only thanks to the help of their Golden Dragon friend, and her mage community that she was able to rally up enough soldiers to fight and win this battle; but there would be many casualties. She just hoped not of her friends paid that price. 

She finally caught sight of Jaskier, dressed in armour for once, rather than his colorful outfits. He had just struck down a knight, as she cleared the path to get towards him. “Any sight of Cirilla yet?” Yennefer shouted so that he would hear her over the screams and chaos. 

Jaskier looked towards her, frowning. “No, Geralt ran ahead to look for her,” Jaskier yelled back. The two moved forwards together, having to step over dead bodies, and avoid slipping in the pools of blood and vomit that covered the stone ground. The battle was far from over yet, and Yen sighed when she saw more Nilfgaards pouring in through the side entrance. Glancing back, she saw her mages heading in their direction, and she knew that they could handle it.

All of the thick smoke and ash in the air made it hard to breathe, as they slowly trudged towards the front of the room. They had to pause intermittently to strike down any opponent, before continuing on. It was a slow process until Jaskier finally shouted: “There! Over there, Geralt has her!” 

Yennefer’s head whirled in the direction the bard pointed, and smiled despite the grim situation, when she saw Geralt helped Ciri to her feet. She didn’t notice, until too late, when the King Emhyr var Emreis of Nilgaard, snuck out from behind the pillars and drove his blade through Geralt’s back, which went clean through him and stuck out of his chest. 

“NO!” Yennefer screamed. Jaskier yelled out in shock, and they both moved to step forward, as Geralt fell to his knees. Before they could get close, a blast shot out, throwing everyone in the room flat against the walls or ground, pinning them helplessly. Yennefer and Jaskier struggled against the force, which struck them again hard, keeping them down. 

Cirilla was floating before them, Geralt beside her. Her mouth was moving rapidly in an incantation. Her hair billowed out behind her, like rays of sunlight. In her white dress, she looked like some sort of holy being, cast down to rid the world of evil. The blue of her eyes seemed to shine, the pupils nearly gone, as she whisked her hand forward towards the King. The chanting came to a stop, but everyone, Nilfgaards and Yennefer’s army alike, was kept bound down, unable to do more than watch what was about to unfold. 

“Damn you,” Ciri screamed, her voice higher pitch and loud, booming throughout the room. “I shall kill you for what you have done.”

Her hand shot out, and the King slammed down into the floor, the air forced from his lungs. He rolled onto his stomach, gasping for a few moments, unable to draw breath. “You… you are just like your mother,” he managed to rasp out, looking up at Ciri in awe. 

Yennefer’s brows drew together. What would the King of Nilfgaard know of Cirilla’s mother? 

Ciri used her powers to bring the King forwards, so that he floated directly in front of her. “What would you know of my mother?” 

“She was my wife,” the King stated. “My Queen, Pavetta.” 

The walls shook hard as Ciri screamed. “You lie! My father is dead. Drowned long ago with my mother.”

“NO!” the King shouted back at her, seemingly unafraid of Cirilla’s powers. “I lived that day. I had you brought here to be my new Queen. You and I shall be the ruler of the New World.”

“That cannot be,” Ciri retorted. Yennefer noticed Geralt was now conscious, watching all this with furrowed brows from where he was pinned against the wall. She also noticed that his wounds were healing, probably Ciri’s doing. The girl’s power was remarkable. 

The King grinned at her. “Saving King Roegner, enacting the Law of Surprise and being bound to Pavetta. It was all part of the plan. We were wed, and you were created, for the single purpose of binding the Nilfgaardian Empire with that of Cintra. You are the sole heir and with your powers, we will be an invincible Empire.”

“You are mad!” Ciri shrieked, launching the King back into the walls. He slammed into them hard, letting out a grunt in pain. Yennefer’s mind whirled with this new information. How had they not known that this man was Ciri’s father? The Nilfgaard, it turns out, was rather skilled at keeping secrets. 

Yennefer was powerless to do more than watch, as Cirilla slowly shredded her father in her anger. Plucking his limbs off one by one with her magic, and finally ripping the heart right out of his chest. It was a sight that turned the mage’s stomach. “For Geralt, and for Pavetta,” Cirilla spat, coming to land back on the ground away from the body of the now dead king. 

Yennefer watched as the girl stepped back, looking towards where Geralt lay, still forced down by her magic. “Release us now Cirilla,” Geralt grunted, still struggling against the invisible force.

“I must ensure the Nilfgaards are dead,” Ciri replied, her voice sounding so unlike her own. Yennefer wondered if Ciri was even conscious of her actions in this moment. Geralt seemed to feel the same way, because with an unbelievable amount of strength, he lifted his fingers up in a sign, and blasted Cirilla with the power he had left. 

A look of betrayal crossed her features, just as her eyes rocked back into her head, where she saw no more.


	25. Our Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your guys' comments just make my absolute day. :) So glad you guys are enjoying the fic.

Chapter 25: Our Stories

Jaskier sat with his fingers laced underneath his chin, elbows propped up on the bed in front of him, as he looked at the Princess that they had worked so hard to save. Four full years she had been kept a captive by the Nilfgaard, and only the Gods above knew what they had done to her in that time. Yennefer had portalled the four of them back to her fortress and had Cirilla placed back in her bedroom and left under a sleep spell. It would be a while before she would wake up.

The Princess had changed drastically in those years. She had grown a few inches and had lost the puffiness of youth. Her cheekbones and jaw were sharp and defined, and her hair unbelievably long and lighter than it had been. Womanly curves had formed, adding to her older appearance. Jaskier was not the only one in their group to notice that she was far thinner than she should be and was now sporting scars along the inside of her wrists. When Yennefer had pointed them out, Geralt had disappeared out of the room, and had yet to return.

They had no idea what her mental state was like yet, either. For all they knew, she had been beaten, raped and tortured for the last four years. When she woke, it would be a long task of figuring out what exactly she had gone through during her capture. They all just hoped she would forgive them for taking so long to find her and free her.

The last rose of Cintra,  
has blood on her thorns.  
A forgotten tale of Elder Blood,  
and all futures past reborn.

Swirling spheres of otherness,  
of hope and doom forlorn.  
Her path could lead to happiness,  
or the end of times for all.

Ghosts of futures falling,  
have saddles up to ride.  
Seeking the Lion Cub of Cintra,  
last living of her pride.

And every hand will reach for,  
the power that lies untold.  
The time of ax and sword is night,  
blood-red seeds of war are down.

So seek ye now the White Wolf,  
he’ll stay their wicked hand.  
A steel and silver burning heart,  
to guide through darkened lands.

Your future lies unspoken,  
in timeless cerulean eyes.  
A world may burn as pages turn,  
or a savior may arise!

Jaskier sung softly, the song one he had heard long ago. Geralt had forbade him to sing it, during their time without Cirilla, but now that they had her back, he felt the words resonate within him. As he sung the last verse, he jumped slightly when Ciri’s hand twitched on the bed.

“Yennefer,” Jaskier murmured, nudging the mage with his foot, who sat asleep in the chair beside him. The mage looked at him curiously, her eyes bleary for a moment. “She is waking.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened as her head whirled to look at where Cirilla lay. The girl was fidgeting, her breathing changing just before her eyes opened. She looked around curiously, before her blue eyes landed on the duo, sitting beside her bed. Instantly, her eyes widened in shock as she sat up. “Jaskier, Yennefer,” her voice croaked hoarsely. Her hand came to her throat in annoyance.

“Here,” Yennefer said softly, handing a glass of water to the girl. Grateful, Ciri brought it to her nose to smell it, a habit she had gotten into during her capture, after having been drugged on a multitude of occasions. The mage noticed, but said nothing, as Ciri downed the glass quickly. “How do you feel?”

Ciri looked around, noticing that Geralt was nowhere to be seen. Turning back to the mage and bard, though keeping her gaze down at her hands, she shrugged. “I feel fine. Where is Geralt?”

“Geralt had to step outside for some air… a lot has happened, to all of us, and he needed some time to clear his mind before you woke,” Yennefer explained.

“It is a wonderful sight to see you awake, Princess,” Jaskier said to her. She momentarily met his eyes, before looking down again.

“It’s good to see you guys again too,” she murmured, her voice still hoarse and quiet. “What happened? I don’t remember much…”

“Geralt will explain it all to you,” Yennefer said, reaching forward to brush Ciri’s hair back. The girl flinched under the touch, before relaxing and allowing the gesture. The mage felt her heart clench. Someone had been physically abusing her… Yen swallowed down her anger. Geralt should be the one to hear the girl’s story – she trusted him the most.

The mage stood up and went to the small night table where two potions sat. “Please drink these, this one is for strength to help you rapidly build back your muscle, and the other is for nutrition.” She handed the two vials to Ciri, who took them with shaky hands.

She looked almost fearful as she starred at the bottles, before swallowing a lump in her throat. This was Yennefer and Jaskier… they wouldn’t do anything to harm her. Flipping back the caps, she took the two potions quickly, handing back the empty bottles to the mage.

Before Yennefer could step back, the sounds of footsteps approaching alerted their attention. Ciri turned to the doorway and felt her heart stop when Geralt appeared, looking the same as she remembered, staring at her with surprise. “You’re awake already,” he grunted, moving into the room to slowly walk up beside her bed. He stopped a few feet away. “I am sorry I wasn’t here when you woke.”

Ciri looked at his amber eyes for a moment, before she diverted her own away. Her heartbeat was way too fast, and she felt her cheeks flush at him standing there staring at her. Yennefer and Jaskier quietly excused themselves, leaving the two of them alone.

The silence went on for a moment, before Geralt let out a sigh, and pulled up a chair beside her bed. “I am sure you have questions,” his voice was low and quiet, though she swore she could feel the vibrations of it even with how far away she was.

She nodded once, thinking about which question to ask first. “Where have you been?” Though the question was worded simply, it was loaded with so many more. Why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you come? What took you so long? Did you abandon me? Why did you bother to save me?

Geralt understood her meaning and rocked back to look at the ceiling. “That is a long story, though I shall explain it if you are willing to listen.” When she nodded, he continued. “Yennefer found me three weeks after your capture, I was keeping myself and Jaskier well hidden to avoid confrontation. Once we knew, we immediately began searching for you.

We found Nilfgaards, tortured them for information, followed the leads to dead ends or traps… We searched and killed and searched some more. The Nilfgaard empire is a vast one, and we were facing opposition on all sides. Within the first year, word got out that we were within the Empire, searching for you. Eventually we had to retreat, there was just too many.

So, we built up our own army. Found those who still supported Cintra and Queen Calanthe, and then found those who owed us favors. It took us a long time to gather the support needed to be able to confront the Nilgaardian Army. Then there was the travel, it was far and long, especially with such a big crowd. We stormed the Fortresses and managed to find out where you were being held. It was decided that on the chosen Wedding Day, we would attack, hoping that the army would be unprepared.

Whilst we had the upper hand, we lost hundreds in casualties. Yennefer portalled us out as the battle grew more vicious. I am sorry, that it took us so long to get to you. It was agony, not knowing where you were or if you were even still alive. We had to trust in the word of the enemy we tortured. Some told us you were dead, others told us you’d been driven mad, while others spoke the truth. I hope you can forgive us for how long it took.”

Ciri was quiet for a long time, her mind processing the information slowly. They hadn’t abandoned her. Geralt had never forgotten about her. It seemed to good to be true, yet she could feel in her heart that it was.

“They told me you abandoned me,” she started, voice quiet, though she knew Geralt’s ears would be able to pick up her words. “They tormented me with telling me that you and Yennefer were wed and living a happy life; that I had been long forgotten. It was their favorite activity at first, listening to my wails and cries that you would not have abandoned me… But slowly, my doubts grew, until I eventually believed their lies.

I accepted I was all alone. There was no way out, I tried so many times. Cahir would beat me and strike me whenever he felt inclined, and their mage had a way with words that could make the happiest person loathe everything about themselves and the world. I did some cowardly things Geralt; I tried to escape in death. Yet no matter how much I tried, or how I did it, I was always revived. I had no control, over anything.”

The tears came then, slipping down her cheeks. Geralt’s hand came up to wipe them away, causing her to recoil back. Looking up, her eyes widened as she saw him perched on the bed in front of her, arm outstretched from his attempted act of kindness. At her look, he spread his arms, so much like their first-time meeting, and with a loud sob she collapsed into his strength.

His arms enclosed around her, tightening across her back as he pressed her into his chest. She grabbed the lapels of his shirt as she sobbed hard, finally feeling safe for the first time in four years. As she cried, she realized how much she loved this Witcher, and that realization made her both happy and devastated. Geralt would never accept her in that way, but for now, she would live with whatever their relationship was. She needed him.

He held her for a long time, soothing her tears and murmuring apologies and how sorry he was for what happened to her, and promises that it would never happen again. His voice rumbled through his chest through hers, and finally she was able to slow the tears and pull back.

“I’m sorry for that,” she whispered, wiping away her last few tears.

“It’s alright,” he replied. Standing up, he held his hand out for hers. “Let’s go down and get you something to eat. I’m sure Jaskier would love to tell you all about his latest compositions.”

Ciri looked at his hand for a long moment, before placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her up beside him. While she had a long way to go to heal, she knew that with Geralt, and her friends by her side, she would eventually be happy again.


	26. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very quick & short chapter, just because your comments have made me so happy. I hope to be able to continue with the daily updates. :) Thank you guys for being such a wonderful community.

Chapter 26: Old Friends

Ciri walked beside Geralt silently, following him to the dining hall where Yennefer and Jaskier already sat at the table. They both smiled at her when she walked in, causing her to smile shyly and look down. Her mind told her that she could trust them, but the years of isolation and verbal / physical abuse made it hard to get used to human contact again so quickly. 

“It is so good to have you back, Ciri,” Yennefer smiled widely, as four trays of food were laid in front of them. The meal was fish, more specifically salmon, and roasted vegetables from the garden outside. Ciri’s mouth watered and her eyes widened in shock. It had been a long time since she’d had any sort of decent meal. The Nilfgaards mostly fed her stale bread, porridge, and potatoes.

“I’m going to say you didn’t have this good of food, eh?” Jaskier asked curiously, noticing her expression at her plate. 

Ciri looked up for a moment, before her gaze turned back to her plate. “No, I ate mostly servant meals… or sometimes I think what was meant for the pigpen. That’s if they even remembered to feed me,” she trailed off. She noticed Geralt’s fists clench where they sat on the table, but he said nothing. 

“Well, there will be none of that here,” Yennefer frowned. “Dig in and don’t be shy.” 

They ate slowly, especially Ciri who savoured each bite like it would be her last. She had never even been a big lover of fish as a child, but the rich flavors that had been kept from her for so long was changing her mind on the delicacy. The vegetables were divine, a mix of carrots, roasted potatoes, and turnips. 

“What happened when you guys stormed the castle?” Ciri asked after she swallowed her last bite. “I really don’t remember much after walking towards the alter.”

Geralt shifted, looking over at Yennefer and Jaskier with a cautious expression. The look sent a sinking feeling to Ciri’s gut – what had happened? “The King… well, it turns out that the King’s alias was Duny, the Urcheon of Erlenwald,” Geralt stated. 

Ciri’s mind spun. “What? That cannot be! That was my father’s name…” her voice trailed off as a memory slammed into her from the Wedding. Her father… he planned all this. The death of her mother, her grandmother, and then trying to Wed her. The blood left her face, and she swayed slightly where she sat in the chair. “He tried to marry his own daughter. He was going to make be produce his heirs.” 

The disgust and revolt turned Ciri’s stomach so much that bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it down, trying to keep her dinner inside of her. Geralt merely nodded. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?” he asked. 

She let her mind look back, and recoiled when she saw herself ripping the man limb from limb, and finishing it off by tearing the very heart from his chest. Unable to hold it back any longer, she slammed back from the table and her supper reappeared, ripping up from her throat with the acid from her stomach. Heaving and coughing, she spluttered up all that was in her. She dry heaved for a few moments, a large warm hand rubbing her back and holding her hair out of her face as she finished. 

Tear streaks marred her face as she looked up, embarrassed at what just occurred. As she stepped back away from the table, and away from Geralt who stood so close beside her, a servant rushed forward to get rid of the mess. “I’m sorry,” she gasped out. “Gods, did I actually kill him like that?” 

Geralt and Yennefer’s silence answered her question. Her hands moved up to her face to cover her mouth in horror. She backed up, hitting the wall, before she began to turn to flee. Geralt’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks. “It’s alright,” he rumbled. “The low-life deserved worse than he got. I would’ve killed him slower than you, had I beaten you to him.”

“No one blames you, or thinks what you did was wrong Ciri,” Yennefer said, stepping up beside her to place a hand on her shoulder. 

She looked at them for a brief moment, before looking down. “I’m a monster,” she whispered. “People would hire you to kill me.” 

Geralt growled at her, shocking her into looking him in the eyes. “You are no monster. The monster is the man you killed. The monsters are the Nilfgaards, who kept you locked away under their torture for four years.” 

When Ciri said nothing, Jaskier came up and took her hand gently. “Come with me for a minute,” he said to her, turning to wink at the mage and Witcher. She looked at them curiously, but allowed Jaskier to lead her out of the dining hall and outside the castle. He led her around the front of the castle, and the site that met her made her knees weak. 

Tied to the post in front of her, stood Aspen, her beautiful bay mare. She looked the same as she always had, staring at her with her large brown curious eyes. Ciri slipped free of Jaskier as she walked slowly up to her mare, raising her hands to stroke the mare’s neck as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Hi beautiful girl,” she whispered softly, moving to stroke the mare’s forehead, right between her eyes. The mare let out a raspberry, and nudged at Ciri with her soft nose. Lost in the moment, she didn’t notice as Jaskier walked up beside her, leading two more horses. 

She whirled when a horse blew in her hair. Roach’s large, chestnut face was right in front of her. The mare’s fuzzy lips brushed over her hair and face as she nickered. Ciri rubbed Roach’s neck gently, before turning to look at the plucky pony beside the chestnut mare. Beast was nudging in her pockets, looking to see if she had any treats on her. “Sorry boy, there’s no snacks here,” she chuckled. Smiling in pure happiness that all three of her horse friends were alive, she tried to spoil them all with attention.

“They missed you, you know,” Geralt’s voice said, coming up beside her. 

“I missed them as well,” Ciri smiled, looking at the three horses who now stood tied grazing. “I’m so grateful you kept Aspen.” 

“We could never sell her,” he replied, sounding almost shocked at the idea. “She was yours. Whether you were coming back or not, we were going to keep that mare for the rest of her life. We knew you’d want her safe. Young Bran has come quite taken with the horses, and is starting to learn to ride.”

Ciri jumped at the mention of Bran. He was barely just over a year old when she’d been taken. “Is he here?” she asked, turning to look at Geralt. 

The Witcher nodded. “Bran is in his lessons right now with one of the teachers brought in. Yennefer teaches him some stuff, but we have proper educators come in to help him learn simple skills.” 

“Will I be able to see him later?” Ciri asked, turning back to face Aspen. 

“Of course,” Geralt replied. “We’ll see him tonight.” 

She smiled at that, and reached up to pull Aspen’s forelock back to the center, running her fingers down it to smooth it down. After a long moment, she pulled back and turned to Jaskier. “Thank you for bringing me to see her,” she murmured to him, eyes downcast. 

“Anytime Princess,” he smiled, giving a quick bow, before turning to untie the horses to bring them back to the field. With a look of longing at her horse, Ciri allowed herself to be led back into the castle by Geralt, longing for when she was strong enough to ride Aspen again. Yet, with her arm looped through Geralt’s, she didn’t wish to be anywhere else than where she was at this moment. How she dearly loved her Witcher.


	27. No Going Back

Chapter 27: No Going Back

“Hi Bran,” Ciri smiled kindly as she waved at the small child, who was peeking out shyly from behind Yennefer.

“Don’t be so shy,” Yen scolded, stepping aside and gently pushing Bran in front of her. The boy had grown so much and was hardly recognizable as the boy she had pulled from the fire. A thick mop of brown hair covered the top of his head and framed his chubby pink cheeks. His wide eyes, the color of chocolate, looked up at Ciri in curiosity. “Go on, you know Cirilla.”

Bran took a tentative step towards Ciri, staring at her with large eyes. His hands were holding the bottom of his shirt, fidgeting with the hem. He was absolutely adorable. “Mama says you saved me when I was a baby,” he murmured quietly, looking up at her behind long lashes.

A warm smile lit up Ciri’s face, as she crouched down to be eye-level with the kid. Of course, Yen had raised him as her own child. The though made her so happy, for both the child and the Mage. “That’s right,” she nodded, her blonde hair bouncing from the movement. “You have grown so much since then.”

The tiny boy seemed to puff up at her words, and Ciri had to stifle a giggle at the pride in the boy. “I’m going to be the strongest mage ever!” he stated, arms crossing over his chest, in an action that seemed very similar to Geralt. Perhaps the boy had been spending some time around the Witcher. The thought caused her to chuckle under her breath.

“I bet you will,” she agreed. Yennefer stepped forward then and scooped the boy up into her arms.

“Come on now, little mage, it is time for bed,” Yennefer said, winking at Ciri over her shoulder as she walked off with the protesting child.

Ciri couldn’t help but feel sad that she had missed so much of Bran’s life. She had missed out on his first steps, his first words, and all those little milestones. It must have been so hard for Yen, to raise a child while looking for her on the side. She would be forever indebted to her companions, for working so hard to free her from the Nilfgaards.

“He sure has grown, hasn’t he?” Jaskier said, coming up beside her, wearing a large grin. “Little chap is my biggest fan. Used to run around in just his cloth diaper, singing along to all my songs.”

Ciri laughed at that. “Oh, I’m sure he just ate up all your words, Jaskier. I see he has also taken after Geralt.”

Jaskier scoffed. “As shy as the boy may seem, he follows Geralt around fearlessly. Like a little puppy following its Master. Makes Yennefer so mad when he learns Geralts… foul language.”

Ciri chuckled, saying nothing more as she moved over to the fireplace, where she held out her hands to warm them. “Are Geralt and Yennefer still…?” her voice trailed off.

“Ahhh,” Jaskier drawled knowingly, looking at Ciri with a raised brow, almost as if he could read her feelings from just the one question. “On and off. They fight, they fuck, they fight, and then fuck some more. It’s honestly a horrid affair and leaves both unhappy. They deserve better than each other.”

A pang struck Ciri’s heart at that. Of course, he was still going after Yen, she was gorgeous after all. Hand crafted to be one of the world’s most beautiful women. She doubted she could ever get Geralt’s attention in that way; she would always be the Child of Surprise to him.

Jaskier observed her for a moment, smiling as he realized his hunch was correct. The girl was in love with Geralt, which was absolutely fabulous news. The Witcher may not know it yet, but the bard could tell, he felt the same way for the Princess. “Don’t think on it too much, Princess. Things will work themselves out for the better.” He winked at Ciri, making her blush and look away. Jaskier could always read her like a book; it seemed four years apart hadn’t changed anything with him. For that, she was grateful.

“Care to sing?” Jaskier asked, as he lifted his lute from where it was strapped to his back. Before Ciri could answer, he broke out into his greatest hit, Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. It had been so long since she’d heard the song, but she’d never forget the words.

Jaskier’s voice was as beautiful as always, as he sung through the first few lines. He danced around Ciri slowly, smiling widely as he strummed the lute. Knowing what he wanted, she ducked her eyes and joined him, quietly singing along. The smile on his face broadened as they sung, the girl picking up in confidence as she sang louder with each verse.

He noticed Geralt had entered the room, leaning against the doorframe and watching with an amused and enthralled expression, as Ciri sung. Jaskier had to admit, the girl’s voice had only grown more beautiful with time. Her singing was reminiscent of a holy-being; gentle and powerful. She sung with Jaskier until the song came to an end. Her eyes turned to his, wild and happy, a look he hadn’t seen on her since they’d found her.

“It sounds much better when she sings it,” Geralt rumbled, startling Ciri who wasn’t aware he was even there. Her face blushed a vibrant red, as she looked down, unable to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Surely not,” she murmured. “The talent is in the creator.”

Jaskier grinned at the praise, moving to stick his tongue out at Geralt. Wanting to give the two some time alone, he excused himself to go have a bath, leaving the two on their own.

Ciri sat on the floor in front of the fire, surprised when Geralt took a seat next to her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Alright,” she responded quietly. “It’s hard to believe I’m actually free… I feel like I might go to sleep tonight and wake up back in that cell.”

Geralt shifted his wait, leaning on his hand that was on the ground beside her. She could almost feel the heat radiating off him, that was how close he was. “You are free, and this is real,” he stated. “Those filth are dead and in the ground, and everyone is for the better because of it.”

She nodded at that but said nothing more. They sat there in silence for a while, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Her head eventually leaned over, where she rested it on Geralt’s shoulder. Instinctively, his hand came up to brush the hair back over her shoulder. Her heart picked up pace at his gesture, and she turned to look up at him, finally maintaining contact.

“Thank you again, for coming for me,” she murmured, looking into his amber eyes. There was emotion in their honey depths, though she couldn’t make out what the emotion was.

He grunted, saying nothing in return. A man of little words, she thought. Her fingers came up to touch his cheek, and she saw his eyes widen in shock, before she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss sent sparks throughout her, warming something deep within her belly as she moved her lips against his surprisingly soft ones. His hand moved to grab her waist in a strong grip, his lips responding for a moment before he ripped back, pushing her away from him. Her heart breaking was almost audible.

“No,” he growled, standing up, not looking at her. “We can’t.”

Her mouth gapped open, shocked at what she had done. She stuttered for a second, before standing to her feet. “I’m – I’m sorry Geralt,” she scrabbled, trying to find what to say. “I wasn’t thinking. I know you don’t feel that way about me. I’m sorry.”

Geralt turned to look at her, eyes pained as she stumbled away from him, tripping on her skirts. “Ciri, no-“ his hand reached up towards her, and she flinched away as if he’d struck her. Turning around, she bolted out of the room.

What had she done? She screamed at herself internally. She needed Geralt to survive, and she just did the one thing that would be sure to drive them apart. He loved Yennefer, not some child that got bound to him by Destiny. She would never be enough for him. Her looks were average, and she had no wealth or title to her anymore. There was nothing that would make her worth-while.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she fled to her room and collapsed on the bed, muscles aching from the over-exertion. Sobbing hard into her pillow, she could not think of a way to fix what had been done. The mistake was made, and there was no going back.


	28. Our Idiotic Witcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, and the super short chapter. I promise the next one will be longer, and will finally see Geralt and Ciri working through this. :) Enjoy. Thank you for all the beautiful comments.

Chapter 28: Our Idiotic Witcher

“Fuck,” Geralt growled, turning sharply to slam his fist into the post behind him. The wood cracked under his knuckles, but he felt no pain. The look of sheer horror in Ciri’s eyes, the look of embarrassment and shame, was etched into his mind. He was supposed to take care of her, not destroy her. So many times he had failed her, and here he was failing her again. 

The feeling of her soft lips against his still lingered. Usually women kissed him harshly, the whores he’d bed always seemed to assume he would like a forceful physical relationship. Yennefer was the only one to kiss him in a different way, but the sparks between them had long vanished, and the only time they bedded each other was to get out any pent up frustration. Then they would retire to their separate rooms. But the way Ciri had kissed him… so tenderly and gentle, it spoke of her love for him, and he hated himself for the way he’d responded. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love her. He did, and for far longer than he felt appropriate. It was hard to deny Destiny’s existence, with how drawn he felt to her. But a life with him would surely be no life at all. He couldn’t go and give her a sedentary life of balls and royal matters. He was a killer, a monster made of mutagens. It wasn’t programmed in him to love someone the way Ciri deserved to be loved. 

However, it was getting hard to deny his feelings. Jaskier and Yennefer already knew; it was obvious with how adamant he was about finding her. He hardly slept in the last four years; the separation jamming his failure in his face every night. Yet now that he had her back, and her obvious maturing and growth just strengthened the flame of his love. It was wrong and twisted, he thought. She was so young and innocent compared to him. He didn’t deserve to soil her anymore than he had. 

She also didn’t deserve the heartbreak she was obviously experiencing right now, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Giving in to their desires would be morally wrong of him, yet leaving things the way they were would surely drive them apart. 

“Fuck!” Geralt snarled again, wishing their was a monster in front of him right now that he could vent his anger at. 

“Geralt!” a loud shrill voice shouted, just as Yennefer, followed by Jaskier entered through the doorway. “Damn it Geralt, you idiot!” Yennefer sounded livid, and the bard behind her looked uncharacteristically angry, with his brows drawn together and a frown marring his features. 

The mage’s fingers almost seemed to spark in her anger, as she shoved her face towards him. “You’re a coward,” she spat at him. “You and Ciri are destined, and if you keep denying it, you are going to wreck her life!” 

Geralt snarled at her, his anger still pulsing, though it was more so directed at himself. “Damn it Yen, do you not think I know that? She’s a fucking child! I can’t sentence her to a life with me!” 

“You fool,” Jaskier snapped, surprising Geralt. “You sentenced her to that life when you chose the Law-of-Surprise. This has all been set up from the beginning.” 

“No, she can still choose otherwise,” Geralt rumbled. “She is not going to be forced into a life with me.” 

A loud slap echoed the room. 

The force of Yennefer’s palm meeting his cheek made him take a step back, and his cheek pulsed from the sharp sting. “You clueless Witcher!” she roared at him. Her hand hovering like she wished to strike again. “She is already forced into a life with you. There is no other road for her. This is the one that has been chosen, and if you don’t accept it, I guarantee she not live to see another year. Her will to live will vanish; her life is bound to you, and you made this bed, so lie in it!” 

Geralt wanted to yell and scream at the both of them, but he just rolled his shoulders back and took a long deep breath through his nose. “You can obviously see my reasons for hesitating?” he questioned, voice low. 

“There is no better man, suited to protecting that girl and giving her a life worth living,” Yennefer stated quietly. 

“You will be the best for her, because you know that she deserves the best,” Jaskier chimed in. “You will work hard to give her a good life. It might not be an ideal one, but she will be happy as long as she gets to spend it with you. Don’t deny either of yourselves that happiness.” 

Yennefer looked at Jaskier in surprise. “The bard, for once, speaks wise words. Listen to them Geralt, or you will lose her. Again.”

Geralt felt the tension leave his shoulders in defeat, as he ran a large hand over his face. “Very well,” he sighed. “But if this ends badly, you guys can take the blame.”

“Go check on her, you idiot,” Yennefer rolled her eyes, pointing a long, graceful finger towards the doorway. 

With a grunt, Geralt turned and walked out of the doorway. A part of him knew that they were right, that this was his mess and he would need to step up to the plate, even if it seemed morally wrong to him. Yet, at the same time, a part of him was almost… excited at the idea of being more with Ciri. She was so beautiful, and exotic, and intelligent. He just hoped he could be enough for her; provide her with all of the joys in life. 

He was slow on his walk to her room, not knowing how to word anything to her. Words were not his speciality, and he really didn’t want to fuck this one up. He didn’t even know if she would listen to him, but he would have to try. 

Stopping outside her bedroom door, he lifted his knuckles slowly and rasped on the door a few times. “Ciri,” he called through the door. “I’m coming in.” 

He could hear her sniffles and cries quiet completely. “Go away Geralt. I don’t need your pity,” she snapped back at him from inside her room. He jumped at the bitterness in her voice, but remembered quickly that she had been someone’s captive for so long. It definitely had left its mark on the girl. 

“Listen to me,” he rumbled. Taking a deep breath, he thought about his words for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak. He just prayed he didn’t fuck this up.


	29. A Love Molded By Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys. I am sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you. Again, sorry for how short it is. My energy levels are depleted with how busy I've been, and it's cutting into my writing time really badly. I managed to get this one out for you guys, and I hope to update soon!   
> Enjoy.

Chapter 29: A Love Molded By Destiny

“I am sorry I reacted the way I did,” Geralt started, his hands braced against the closed door, wishing he could barge in and talk to her face-to-face. “Ever since I bound you to me, when you were still in your mother’s womb, I have felt this… attachment to you. You were on my mind, even before you were born. I never believed in Destiny until that day we were bound together. I thought Destiny was a joke, a farce.

You were born, and everything was amplified. This burning need to be near you, to protect you, and to be whatever you needed. I avoided that pull for so long, believing that your life would go on normally without me. It took all the tragedies leading up to this, Cintra burning, you being lost, all our unfortunate adventures, and then the latest Nilfgaard scheme, it just drove it all home that we need each other. When you are not within eyesight, I’m worried about you. The last four years were… unbearable.” 

The door slowly creaked open, revealing a puffy-eyed, blotchy faced Ciri, who’s eyes were so shockingly blue, glistening from her tears. She stared at him, her eyes conveying all of her hurt and loss, the emotions tearing at Geralt’s heart as he longed to ease all of her pains and worries. “Where are you going with this Geralt?” she questioned quietly, her eyes questioning. 

“I care about you Cirilla,” he stated bluntly. “You deserve to live a happy, peaceful life back in Cintra, ruling over your people with all the strength and determination passed down to you from Calanthe. I could never give you such a life; I have to keep doing my job, as one of the few Witchers left. I would never be able to provide you with a nice home, and be a great life partner. You deserve more than an old Witcher.” 

The look of hurt and loss seemed to strengthen, as some anger sparked in her eyes. “If you came here to tell me what I already know, you can spare me the false lies,” she spat, the tears prickling at the corners of her already swollen eyes. “Go back to Yennefer, Geralt. She’s your best option.” 

As she moved to slam the door in his face, he jammed his bulk into her space, shoving his way into the room and grabbing her arm, making her flinch back. He softened his grip, and looked at her with as much honesty and emotion in his eyes as he could muster. “You are wrong,” he said. “I speak only the truth. You do deserve more than me, but I am a selfish man, and I will be honored, if you allow me to pursue your affections.” 

Ciri’s mouth dropped open. That was the last thing she had expected to hear come from Geralt. He had already said more words than he usually said in a week. It had to be some sort of trick. There was no way Geralt felt the same way about her. But the honesty and love in his usually emotionless eyes spoke differently, and she very badly wished to believe him. 

“Do you say that just because you think that you may lose me if you do not reciprocate?” she asked, her hopes getting higher, and she hoped that he didn’t send them all crashing. 

“I am not an eloquent man, and I will never be able to write you poems or win your affections through pretty words,” he rumbled, maintaining a steady and intimidating eye contact with her. “But if this is what you want, I would be willing to spend the rest of my existence showing you that my feelings are true.”

His large hands grabbed her slender waist, pulling her flush against him, as he brought his lips down to meet hers. The kiss was not slow and tender, nor was it aggressive and dominating. Rather, it was a pleasant kiss with just enough force and love mixed together. His lips moved against hers, and she responded with just as much enthusiasm, once the initial shock wore off.

Her body felt like it was on fire, her soul igniting with a radiant flame as it danced with Geralts’. She had never felt a connection as strong or as vibrant as this one, and the acceptance of their destinies seemed to only intensify that feeling. The feeling must have been the same for Geralt, as his body seemed to tremble with each movement, vibrating at the same time as her own. Lifting up her hands, she placed them on his chest, fingers splayed wide on the cloth-covered muscle. 

With a gentle hand, Geralt lifted his right hand up to her neck, where he gently cupped her jaw and used his thumb to tilt her head more, as he deepened the kiss. A small purr of approval escaped her, and she flushed with embarrassment, before moving to step back, but Geralt wouldn’t allow it. He chuckled into their kiss, firmly holding her in place as he continued to kiss her. She very quickly forgot her embarrassment.

They finally separated after a long moment, Ciri panting and lips red and swollen from the attention. Geralt looked down at her, and thought that he had never seen anyone so beautiful, as Ciri in that moment. “You are beautiful,” he rasped out, using his fingers to pull her hair back and away from her flushed face. 

Her eyes darted away in shyness, her fingers moving on their own accord to reach up and touch his cheek gently. He leaned into the touch, his body responding in ways it normally never would. Never before had he felt so desperate for affection, but the way Ciri loved him, not seeing him as a monster, but rather a man capable of feeling, was something he had never experienced. 

Reaching down to grab his hand, Ciri led him silently over to her bed, and indicated he sit down. Understanding, he made himself comfortable, propped up against the pillows as the small woman curled up next to him in the crook of his arm. The need to feel each other was felt mutually, and finally settled as they lay in one another’s arms. 

No more words were spoken, and it felt as if a heavy weight was finally lifted from the two. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed them both, pulling them down into their dreams. And for once, neither was haunted by nightmares; just warm beaches, horse rides, and a love molded by destiny.


End file.
